Heart of the Serpent
by darkcyan
Summary: After the final battle with Galaxia, the senshi find that they have *all* reverted back to being eleven years old ... and what's this about invitations to attend Hogwarts? *ABANDONED*
1. Introductory Notes and Apologies

Introduction:  
  
This is a Sailormoon/Harry Potter crossover. The Sailormoon characters are taken from the end of Stars, after the final battle with Galaxia. Because of the situation I have set them in, there are minor spoilers, mostly implied, for you poor people who have never seen Stars. Also slightly AU, as in the anime Uranus and Neptune made up with the rest of the team for their astonishingly horrible blooper, instead of being ostracized and cast out, as they were in this story.   
  
This fic focuses on Haruka for the most part, although several other characters gain increasing importance as the fic continues. In the spirit of Haruka and Michiru, I must warn people that yes, they are quite definitely a couple. Yuri, people. Or perhaps shoujo ai comes closer. Either way, it boils down to homosexual relationships. Nothing will happen, but that's because I don't like lemons, I don't write lemons, and anyway they're so underage (now) it's not even funny!  
  
So if the idea of two girls being in love with each other really hurts your feelings, please do me a favor and hit the back button right now.  
  
Yes, I have implied that Haruka has abusive parents. I read that, in another story, but I have no idea whether or not that is true. Likewise, I know that Michiru's parents are rich, but I have no idea whether or not they disinherited her. The North American anime of Sailormoon is distressingly lacking in information of any sort about their parents, as is the English "translation" of the manga (*please* don't tell me they messed it up as badly as they did the anime!), so (I admit it!) I made it all up. If you have any concrete information, please drop me a line (dragonmarquise@yahoo.com). I'll try to fit it into the story, but more importantly, I'm just incredibly curious!  
  
  
Apologies:   
  
To all my readers, especially those of you who have been with me since nearly the beginning, my sincerest apologies.   
  
Many of you have probably noticed by now that I have not updated my story since May of 2002, more than six months ago. I am not dead or dying; I have not sustained any major injuries, gotten a new job, or done much of anything that would be an adequate excuse from being kept away from this story for so long.   
  
Last year, I decided that, while I was happy with where the story was going, I was deeply unhappy with many of the earlier chapters, and then made the decision to revise this story more-or-less completely. The process has proven to be more time-consuming than I expected--when, that is, I take the opportunity to work on this story at all. An increasingly infrequent happening, as my muse has almost completely died on both versions.   
  
I have so far revised the first six, and most of the seventh, chapters, and have reposted them here. The last of this story, until I get back to the point I was at previously, will be a compilation of all thirty-five original chapters, plus what I had written of thirty-six before I began my revisions.   
  
Again, I am truly sorry for both my long disappearance and the fact that I am unlikely to get much faster in the near future.   
  
--cyan


	2. An End and A Beginning

I do not own Harry Potter or Sailormoon. I'm sure that comes as a great surprise to everyone. J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and Naoko Takeuchi owns Sailormoon (as well as many different other companies that I do not know about, I'm sure.)  
  
Note as of 2/11: This is a revised version, but the revisions, for the most part, are very slight. A changed word here, a reworked paragraph there, but not much either added or deleted.  
  
Notes as of 6/11: Major revision this time--almost twice as long with some new scenes added in to the bargain.   
  
  
  
1. An End and A Beginning  
  
  
She and I died that night. But the worst part, in many ways, was not our death. We knew it would happen eventually; it had happened before, and in our line of work, it seemed a certainty that it would happen again. Being one of eleven people standing between our world and domination by ultimate evil does not tend to do good things to your projected lifespan. No, the worst part was not our death, but what had come after. The cold stares, the accusatory looks, the knowledge that we had just betrayed the one we were sworn to protect and she knew it. She knew it, and there was no forgiveness in her for us this time. Not anymore. Hers was not the cold or accusatory stare, because she refused to look at us, refused even to acknowledge our existence.   
  
And then, to discover that we had all somehow reverted to eleven years old again, even Mamoru and Setsuna, who have always been years older than us. Our happy home was gone, the four of us who had been a family, a good, happy family for each other, before we had to go and ruin it. Ruin that love the four of us had shared, with no one else left to give it to but each other.  
  
We can't go home tonight. Michiru, my partner, confidante, best friend, beloved, had again spoken exactly what I was thinking, through that uncanny connection we have. Sometimes, it seems we can almost read the other's thoughts, but she's always been much better in figuring out what's on my mind than I, trying to figure out what's on hers.   
  
Her aqua hair was disarrayed, lying flat and dull against her head, falling into her face. Her beautiful cerulean eyes, too, were dulled by the recent events. She felt the scorn, the abandonment, at least as deeply as I . . . although I had always seen her as the strong one in our relationship, with the strength of character and will to always go on no matter what. To see us both brought so low--Usagi's companionship had never seemed to mean much to us, but now that we had lost it . . . it was a dreadfully lonely feeling. I think the fact that we still had each other was all that kept either of us from completely breaking down.  
  
But at least we had each other. A cold comfort, just now, but . . . perhaps just barely . . . enough. Enough that Michiru would always be by my side to pick me up when I fell, just as I would always stay by her. Of that, at least, in this cold variable lonely world, we had no doubt.  
  
I agreed, as we stood lonely in the shadows, watching the others separate and head to their own homes. They'll hate us forever . . . and I can't really blame them. I would have, in their place, with far less provocation.   
  
Michiru sighed. Somehow, everything always ends up landing on her shoulders. We both knew who she was talking about, the blonde princess we had sworn to serve, who now refused even to acknowledge our existence. It doesn't matter what you or I do, it doesn't matter what any of the senshi do . . . she'll always be the one to take the brunt of it, and she's always the one who ends up saving us.  
  
Michiru's right. Everything we've done . . . it doesn't really matter when all the cards are laid on the table. None of our action have ever made any real difference that I could tell, and I only wish . . . I wish that I knew that what we have done, dirtying our hands continuously, really did matter. That some action of ours, that we knew was the right one--except events always seemed to turn out to show it hadn't been necessary--actually _had_ made a difference.   
  
I know I will never be the one to decisively defeat the enemy, or to banish the evil, but it would help immensely if I just knew . . . that what we have done was not as futile as it seems now, that we knew of at least one time the decision we made that she contested, was the right one. It's hard, realizing that you are useless to the team except as a source of supporting firepower, that the life you've been living has always been a lie. That every time she said Sacrifices do not have to be made! she was right and we were wrong. So wrong.  
  
At some point, we sat down, I think, although I have no memory of the actual act. We knew of no place to go where we would be welcomed--and it was certain that we would not be welcomed at what we had come to see as our home. If it even remained. So we sat there, in the park, waiting for the dawn to come. Knowing it would be a long time before the dawn came in our hearts.  
  
We could try my parents' house. Michiru suggested quietly, as the dark surrounded us. The street lamp had winked out quite a while ago. Perhaps, the change in our ages has also changed their opinion of us. And if they've forgotten everything, since we didn't actually meet until years from now, I could just introduce you as a friend of mine. Unless you'd rather try your house . . .   
  
I answered shortly. If being eleven now was anything like having been eleven then, I did not want to come anywhere near my parents' house. Allow it to suffice to say that my life became a great deal easier when I grew large enough to dodge, and mature enough to begin to understand that perhaps, sometimes, it wasn't always my fault. I stood up, extending a hand to help her regain her feet. It's better than waiting here all night, I suppose.   
  
* * *  
  
Walking, she paused suddenly and turned. There, on the edge of her vision, was the tree near where they had returned to life on this world. She looked at her hands. In the dim lamplight, they seemed even smaller than they were in reality, and infinitely smaller than they had been . . . before. What had happened? She had no real idea, but couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, it was her fault. The way it had been her fault when she wished for a normal life at the end of the battle with Metallia . . . and torn away all their memories of the friendship they had known, the love she had felt so very briefly . . . and left the door open for a new enemy to invade with no one to stop them.   
  
Movement near the tree caught her eye as two figures, so tiny at this distance, stood. She knew who those two figures were, and her mouth tightened with anger; her fists clenched until she knew her knuckles were white, whiter than her skin ordinarily. So slowly, she willed her fists to unclench, pushed deep down inside all the anger she felt, still felt, toward their betrayal. She knew the right thing to do, the queenly thing to do, would be to forgive them once more. Yet . . . she found she no longer cared, and that gave her a feeling of unexpected freedom.   
  
Forgive them? Why? So they might feel sorry for just a little while, but persist in their belief that all they did was right? Forgive them, keep them close, so they could continue to second-guess her every action, deny her every request . . . refuse to trust that she knew what she was doing, when events had always proven her right?   
  
She shook her head firmly. Never again. The promise drifted quietly on the cool night wind, unheard by any but herself, but the spoken words bound her no more tightly than she had already bound herself.   
  
* * *  
  
Well . . . the house is still here. I wonder if that's a good sign. Hotaru commented as she walked toward the door.   
  
How bad could it be? Though she couldn't see it, Hotaru could feel Setsuna's wry smile. I mean, if you reverted back to being possessed by Mistress Nine . . . like you were when you were really eleven . . . even if you didn't notice, I would have.   
  
They reached the doorstep, and Hotaru turned. If you want . . . you could stay the night here. Since you're not old enough anymore to be legitimately on your own . . .  
  
Setsuna considered, then shook her head. I may take you up on that offer later. It would be a good idea to have a base of operations here on Earth, and you're right, I can't exactly do it alone. She got an abstracted look on her face, revealed by the flickering light at the front door--Hotaru made a mental note to get her father to replace the bulb . . . again. This had always happened when she had been younger, his completely forgetting details in his all-consuming focus on his work.   
  
Not tonight, though. Setsuna abruptly continued. I need to check in at the Gates, and . . . oh, a wide variety of things.   
  
Hotaru asked gently. Seeing she had the green-haired senshi's attention, she continued, Please . . . try to get at least some sleep tonight.   
  
Setsuna licked her lips and shook her head silently. Not now. Perhaps . . . later . . . when the memory has faded . . . She shivered. Hotaru wrapped her arms around friend and foster-mother, gently, as she too began to shiver.   
  
Looking up into the starry night sky over Setsuna's shoulder . . . and how strange it was, that now they were nearly the same height . . . she finally let the tears out, let them roll slowly down her face, the way she knew they rolled down Setsuna's.   
_  
Why did you do this thing to us? We loved each other, I thought . . . perhaps not as much as you love each other . . . but we were a family. Why did you have to destroy that?  
_  
_Why . . .?_  
  
* * *  
  
He sat in the chair, staring unseeingly out into the night. The light from the street lamp right outside his house and the occasional passing car reflected off lightly colored hair and eyes that, in such poor lighting, could not possibly be seen as anything but dark. Even slouching in the chair as he did, his body conveyed a sort of lanky grace, an indication that, standing upright and tall, he would be taller than the average person if, perhaps, not by much.   
  
He gazed, as if the depths of darkness held the answers he waited for. He waited, patiently. There had been an epic battle tonight. He knew, because those were the only ones predicted in advance. His daughter had warned him she might be coming home late tonight and, as always, even as his heart contracted in fear, he only hugged her and assured her that he loved her and was proud of her.   
  
Unspoken between them, as always, lay the fear that this time would be the time she didn't come back. But he never reproached her or tried to stifle her activities. He knew this was important to her as nothing else had ever been. Worse, he knew what she was doing was important to the survival of the world. What right did he have to try to hold her back?  
  
So, as always, he did the only thing he could do. He made a huge salad--as though her favorite food would lure her back home safely!--turned his chair toward the window and, as daylight faded into twilight and twilight into night, he waited.   
  
What else could he do, but wait?   
  
* * *  
  
We walked. Distances seem a great deal further, when one is only eleven years old, a rather scrawny eleven-year-old at that, and the world in general was a larger, scarier place. Not much farther. Michiru assured me. She was reading my mind again, and I flashed her a quick, small smile. Just enough to let her know that truly, I didn't mind the walk--which I didn't, especially with her company.   
  
I could tell it took her nearly all her courage to go up and ring the doorbell--she was more frightened, I think, by this than she had been by Galaxia. I didn't blame her--after all, I doubt I would have had the courage to step within ten feet of the door, had I been in her place. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, to let her know that I was there and that I would never leave her.   
  
We had been estranged from our families almost since we met (for me, far longer than that . . .) and now we had lost what friends we had come to believe we had, but I refused to believe that anything could ever come between us. Even Death--him we knew and defied at every turn. At least to me, he no longer held any fear. To someone who has died twice in this life alone, although I have no clear memories of either, Death has become almost a known quantity . . . and certainly more peaceful at times than the life we have chosen to live. Besides . . . if we died, we'd die together, and with Michiru by my side, nothing holds any fear for me.  
  
Then the door opened, and a tall (I had never noticed how tall Michiru's mom was--another benefit of being eleven and short again, I guess) woman looked down at us with worry and relief. No contempt, no hatred, not even any dislike, I noticed with relief of my own that brought me closer to tears than anything else had in this ordeal we have been through since our resurrection. Michiru, Haruka, where have you been? You said the battle would be over long before dark, but it's almost dawn now.   
  
I couldn't help it. I knew, even as I said it, that it was not the wisest thing to say, but my mouth ran miles ahead of my brain. You know?! Unfortunately, the art of keeping my mouth shut is not one at which I am terribly adept. Especially when something throws me off-balance, as Michiru's mother's knowledge of our alternate identities certainly had!  
  
Michiru's mother frowned slightly. That the two of you are Sailor Senshi? Of course dear, you told me yourself. Another shock. What else had our counterparts said or done that we had no awareness of? She bent down, to look both of us in the eye. Except . . . there's something different about you now. Your auras are all out of whack, and your eyes . . . I can see it in your eyes, the bitter knowledge that only experience brings. The bond between you has grown immeasurably as well, a strength that I only see between old married couples, usually. Yet you are both still clearly my daughter and her best friend. What happened?   
  
Michiru smiled a bit, painfully. We both killed and were killed today, Mom . . . and neither did any good. In addition, yesterday, we were both seventeen . . . She had seen, as I had, that her mother knew we were not who we seemed to be. Yes, she was Michiru and I was Haruka . . . but not the Michiru, not the Haruka, that before had belonged _here_. And so, knowing lies would do no good and potentially great harm, she told the truth.   
  
I didn't mind. I was tired of lies, of half-truths and omissions.  
  
. . . Living on our own with the two people we ended up killing, the two people we would have wanted least to ever cause any hurt to at all . . . I added, giving thanks that I could not actually remember committing the act . . . only the knowledge that I had been ordered to do so and had, unable to resist the command for those fatal moments . . . and then, collapsing, dying, reaching out for Michiru as she reached out for me and the comforting warmth of her fingers as everything else spiraled down into the cold black forgetfulness of death.  
  
. . . Still friends, even if the relationship was a bit strained, with the rest of the senshi, instead of outcast . . . And how that still hurt, though it had been hours now since the decision was made . . . though I knew, deep in my heart, that we deserved it . . . and I knew that we would never have been truly part of the team in any case. We were just too different, the other senshi and Michiru and I.  
  
. . . Completely estranged from you and the rest of Michiru's family because you disapproved of Michiru's lifestyle choices . . . I could still remember that night, the most nervous I had ever seen my calm soulmate, as she prepared to introduce me to her parents. She had hoped so desperately for their approval . . . had needed their approval. And at first, it had seemed as if they did approve. Then . . . when I took off my jacket . . . they had seen the curve of my breasts, realized for the first time what I really was.   
  
A female. A female who dared to associate so closely with their beloved daughter and, worse yet, a female who had somehow bewitched' their beloved daughter into wanting that association. The evening had descended into one of the most painful I can remember . . . short, after that, but painful nonetheless. The ultimatum: me, or them. If she chose to continue her association with me, she would be disowned. If she threw me over, they would graciously receive her back into their loving arms.   
  
And . . . perhaps the most unbelievable part of the entire night . . . she chose me. I had disassociated myself from my family long before, so I had no real concept of what having a truly loving, caring family meant. Until I met Setsuna and Hotaru and together we made something beautiful. To throw over even a pale shadow of that joy, that sense of belonging . . . purely for me?   
  
A decision that I've never regretted making. Michiru added softly, turning to me with eyes that had regained a bit of their shine and squeezing my hand. It amazed me that she hadn't regretted it, even once, given the number of times I had wept silently, inwardly, over the pain that decision had caused her. Yet I knew she hadn't, and perhaps that was the most wondrous thing of them all.  
  
I let my small half-smile answer her declaration as I gently squeezed her hand back. _Nor have I . . . perhaps any other decision I have made in my life . . . but never, _ever_ that decision._ Michiru has always been my light in the darkness, my port in the storm.   
  
Michiru's mother's frown had become the genuine thing, instead of just an expression of thoughtfulness. A decision you should never have had to make in the first place. What in the world was I thinking? She paused. That didn't come out quite the way it should have.   
  
I laughed, for the first time in what seems like forever. I found myself genuinely liking Michiru's mother, something I would never have thought possible before. I don't know . . . remember, we were sixteen at the time . . . and it must have been quite a shock to have your daughter bring home a nice young man . . . only to find out that he was a girl. And by uttering those words to the analogue of the woman who had caused all that pain to Michiru and, through her, to myself, I was finally able to glimpse the humor of the situation. It would have been downright funny if it had happened to someone other than Michiru and myself.   
  
Still, that's no reason to disinherit anyone, much less someone as sensible as Michiru. I trust her to make the right choices. Michiru's mother's voice was firm, and I could see how firmly she believed her words.   
  
Michiru choked up. It was obvious, just looking at her, that she could barely breathe through the lump in her throat, much less talk. Yet somehow, she managed it, throwing her arms around her mother like she would never let her go, like the eleven year old we seemed to be, instead of the aloof, standoffish teenager I had come to know and love. But seeing this side of her did not change my feelings, except to love her even more--if such a thing were possible--and envy the closeness with her mother that Michiru had been lucky enough to discover. I would have no such happy reunion with my parents . . . however much things had changed, there was nothing that could change Ichiro Ten'ou that much. Thank you, Mom. She whispered, a silent tear making its way down her face. You'll never know how much this means to me.   
  
And I just stood there, desperately wishing that it was me, being engulfed by my mother's hug and all the love that hug embodied. But that could never be my mother, for she had always been little more than a pale shadow of my father. Perhaps Michiru's mother realized some part of my yearning, for she looked up from her daughter, her cerulean eyes--so much like Michiru's!--boring into my soul. I don't know what my relationship with the seventeen-year-old you was. She stated softly. I don't particularly want to know, because I'd probably end up liking that myself even less than I already do. But I want you to know this--_I_ have always thought of you as another daughter. She disengaged one arm from hugging Michiru and held it out to me. There's room--if you want to join.   
  
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Like Michiru, a lump had formed, completely blocking my throat. Perhaps it was just as well--even if I could have spoken, I doubt anyone would have understood what I said, as it would have been completely unintelligible, not at all like Michiru's eloquence. I just walked over, and soon found myself being hugged by two people and feeling more beloved than I can ever remember having felt.  
  
And that was when I realized that, even if there was a way for us to return to the age we had been only hours before, I no longer wanted to. Nothing would bring back to us the friends we had lost, and at eleven I found something that I had never found at seventeen--someone, besides Michiru, who is and always will be uniquely special, who truly loved me.  
  
  
7/21/2001  
2/11/2002  
6/11/2002


	3. Owl Post

Insert standard disclaimer: I don't own and have never claimed to own Sailormoon or Harry Potter. Never have, never will.  
  
Welcome all, to the second chapter of this fic. This chapter begins introducing the Harry Potter references, although most of the characters don't appear until chapters three and four. Enjoy!  
  
Notes 6/14: Hi all! As you might have gathered from the previous chapter, I am in the process of revising this story. There should not be any major plot-related changes, but I am feeling the need to change the way I've written this, so that I'll be better satisfied. Let me know what you think!  
  
  
2. Owl Post  
  
  
  
The morning is cool, as wisps of fog still cling to the ground. Towering over a lake stands a tall stone castle. One might even call it a fairy-tale castle, as it seems too fantastical to be anything firmly based in the real world. At some hidden signal, this dream castle suddenly explodes into action. People, young people, rush all over the place, of all ages and colors, a rainbow display. The only uniting factor, it seems, is their attire, for each is dressed in a long black robe. Many wear matching pointed hats, though there are equally as many that choose other, brighter headgear or wear nothing at all on their heads.   
  
This is a place seen only by those who know that its fairy-tale visage is reality, for reality is, in many ways, similar to a fairy tale. Even over the space of a few minutes, the castle shifts, subtly, growing a new protuberance here, shrinking a little there. In a room, a simple room and one of many, a woman sits.   
  
Unlike the students, her long robe is of a deep emerald green. In front of her sits a large book, and she mutters to herself as she writes on a piece of parchment with a quill pen, occasionally looking at the book as if verifying the information she writes. She finishes the letter and seals it, placing it on top of a stack, and stands up and stretches. She surreptitiously rubs her eyes, for it has been a long night-turned-morning, but a tired smile adorns her face as she looks upon the stack of letters--somewhere around forty or fifty in all--for she has finished her self-appointed task at last.   
  
Once again outside the castle, one might witness a quite incongruous sight; somewhere between forty and fifty owls taking flight from the roof. Looking closer, it is seen that each owl carries in its claws a letter, one of the letters the woman has written. They fly off in entirely different directions, with the exception of a clump of nine, or perhaps ten, larger and with more stamina than the average owl used in this business, that arrows straight east . . . for now.   
  
That time has come again, the time of invitations to this place of magic and learning. Soon, a new group of eleven- and twelve-year-olds will grace these halls with their presence, as they always have, through the millennia in which the outside world grew and changed but the castle stayed, for the most part, the same. Deep within the castle, a dark presence stirs and smiles. This will be a good year, for this is the eleventh year of the life of its nemesis. Soon . . . soon, its nemesis will come here . . . and at last be within its reach once more.   
  
Soon . . .   
  
* * *  
  
In the kitchen, Michiru's mother cooked breakfast before she went off to work; Michiru's father had already left. Michiru and I sat at the table, waiting patiently. Or as patiently as we could--we tried not to bounce up and down too much or too noticeably. Michiru's mother raised her head briefly. Ah, the mail's here. Would you get it, Haruka, Michiru?  
  
We chorused, happy to be doing _something_ useful. After collecting the mail we wandered back into the kitchen, sifting through the mail as we went.   
  
Bill, bill, advertisement, letter from Kaiou Shiriko-san, advertisement, letter for you, Michiru . . .   
  
Advertisement, bill, college mailing, advertisement, letter for you, Haruka . . . strange, they look almost identical . . . Depositing the rest of the mail at the center of the table, we switched letters. I looked at mine for a moment before opening it. Parchment, green ink, and an actual honest-to-goodness wax seal.   
  
I shook my head as I slit open the envelope and drew out the two sheets of paper within. Were these people, whoever they were, still living in the seventeen hundreds or something? Hadn't they ever heard of computers or at least typewriters?   
  
The letter inside was in English and I groaned silently. Although I am fairly good with foreign languages, I am far from fluent. I know barely enough English to get by with passable grades in class and ask the way to the bathroom and the race track at races I attended in English-speaking countries. Still, I was determined not to ask Michiru's mother for help--heck, when it came to that, I had no idea whether or not she even _knew_ English.   
  
Dear Miss Ten'ou, I read, skipping over the elaborate header. Headers tend to be something of a waste of space and I felt like I was straining my knowledge of English as it was. I certainly did not want to read any more than I absolutely had to. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at . . . Hogwarts? . . . School of-- I looked up. How can that be? I haven't applied to any school, much less a place with such a silly name.   
  
I heard a small gasp from behind me in the kitchen, but my eyes were on Michiru who, brow furrowed, was mouthing her way through her own letter. I glanced back down at mine. School of--oh, phooie. I don't recognize that word.   
  
Witchcraft and Wizardry, Michiru supplied softly. We locked eyes, and I could see the same thoughts drifting through her head as were whirling through my own. It must be a trick of some kind. I mean . . . magic? Real magic?   
  
It is no trick. Michiru's mother came over and set down our breakfasts gently. Although I admit, I had never expected either of you to receive a letter. She smiled wryly at her daughter. Aki and I had pretty much figured you for entirely a Muggle, as nothing at all magical ever happened around you. So we were doubly proud when you found a way to protect people even as a Muggle. She beamed. And now, for some reason, you are being invited after all . . . it's like a dream come true. We had always kind of hoped that you would follow us through Hogwarts . . . but we had regretfully given up on that dream when it seemed that you had inherited no magic from either of us.   
  
She looked at me. I know your father felt the same way, but he is very proud of you despite that, Haruka. He always has been.   
  
I stood violently, not caring that I had knocked over the chair as I immersed myself in the red haze that covered my vision. I gently placed the letter on the table and turned, throwing my words over my shoulder like the darts I felt they should be. Poisonous darts. I cannot believe my father is capable of pride, much less in me. And even if he was . . . why should I care what _he_ thinks?   
  
Not trusting myself to say any more without degenerating into fouler language than I had felt like using in quite a while, I turned on my heel and left.   
  
* * *  
  
What was that all about? Kaiou Sachiko murmured, eyes wide, as the girl she had come to think of as a second daughter stalked out of the room.   
  
You shouldn't have said that about her father. Michiru said quietly, as she put a comforting hand on her mother's arm. Again, Sachiko found herself quietly amazed at the maturity of this version of her daughter, a maturity at odds with her small size. You couldn't have known . . . but her family is a _very_ sensitive subject to Haruka. From what I've been able to learn, she ran away from home at twelve, was shuffled through several foster families, and finally struck out on her own when she was sixteen, shortly before I met her.   
  
She twirled a lock of hair around her finger absently. Even now, more than five years after she cut herself off from her family, she is unwilling to say much on the subject . . . even to _me_.  
  
But . . . I know Hiroshi. Sachiko protested weakly. Sure, he got involved in the wrong crowd there for a while, but he's a basically good man. And I could tell that he loved Haruka very much. He can't have changed that much. She began to turn. That's right . . . I really ought to have called him before this, to let him know Haruka is okay. I can't believe I forgot!  
  
The hand on her arm tightened. Mother, tell me. Which would hurt this man more--not knowing whether Haruka is even alive . . . or knowing for sure that she is alive, but that she hates him with a passion she displays toward no others, not even the worst of our enemies, and would never willingly come within ten miles of him?   
  
But . . . why? Sachiko asked, sadly, as Michiru's logic penetrated. Her daughter was right, much as she hated to admit it. Hiroshi was better off this way.   
  
Michiru shook her head. Hiroshi, that sounded subtly wrong to her, but she couldn't tell why. I'm sorry, mom, I truly don't know. This part of Haruka, she hides . . . even from herself, at times, I think. But . . . if Hiroshi, this Hiroshi, truly is as you say, Haruka will figure it out for herself eventually. And she has to figure it out for herself, or she'll never truly believe.   
  
She looked up. Before we got sidetracked, you mentioned Muggles. Who're they?  
  
* * *  
  
You really don't have to decide whether or not you want to go until the end of July. Michiru's mother reminded us. That will still leave us plenty of time to collect the supplies you'll need before fall term begins. I should know--I remember it took me until July 29 to decide to go there instead of the smaller school here, right outside of Tokyo. She smiled supportively. Besides, wherever you decide to go, we can always owl each other. It's not too far away.   
  
Michiru and I exchanged glances. Before she mentioned it, we hadn't even known there were any wizarding schools' in Japan, much less one so close by. But then, to us, close by wasn't necessarily a good thing. I think both of us would rather be . . . elsewhere for a while. Michiru said softly, and I nodded my agreement.   
  
The memories here . . . they're still too sharp, and there are too many reminders--especially of the bad ones. Perhaps it is an indication of our relationship with the Inner Senshi that I cannot recall any truly _happy_ memories involving them. All of those involved Michiru and myself alone, or . . . I winced, and my mood sank to a new low as it always did when I thought of them. I smiled wryly. And at this point, even most of the good memories are painful . . . possibly more painful than all but the worst of the bad ones.   
  
Michiru's mother nodded. I can see that. Alright, if you think that's what you really want . . . I'll go ahead and send an owl in reply to Minerva. And maybe we can go shopping sometime soon. Perhaps I'll take you to Diagon Alley--that's the wizarding supply street in London, and one of the largest and most comprehensive in the world.   
  
That sounds like fun. Michiru smiled shyly. I, on the other hand, would dearly love to have groaned. Shopping. Like many members of the gender that I emulated so often, I detested the occasion. But perhaps . . . with something new and different such as magical supplies . . . it might not be so bad after all.   
  
Plus, as I admitted to myself yet again . . . I'd do almost anything if it made Michiru smile. Still, a logical objection came to mind. It's been a while since I've studied English seriously . . . I'm not sure I'd be able to talk my way out of a paper bag, much less buy such esoteric supplies as they are asking for.   
  
Michiru's mother smiled. Well, you're further along than I was. I didn't know a word of English when I decided I wanted to go to Hogwarts. Fortunately, there _is_ a magical solution to that. She drew a wand out of . . . somewhere, perhaps the same place we keep our henshin pens? . . . and pointed it at the two of us. _Anglicus Linguisticus Veritas!_   
  
As I collapsed to the floor, head splitting into at least a dozen parts, I could hear her voice, as if from afar. Oh yeah . . . I forgot to mention . . . it'll hurt.   
  
As soon as the pounding in my head receded enough for me to at least think semi-coherently, I levered myself onto my elbows, still squinting through the pain. Naw . . . I said, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. . . . ya think?  
  
* * *  
  
And here I thought all those stories about witches and such were so much rot. Michiru muttered as we pored over the list of supplies--far easier to read, now that we were truly fluent in the language.   
  
I knew what she was referring to immediately, of course. The long black robes and the tall, pointy black hats. I always though, even if there were such a thing as witches and wizards, surely they'd have enough common sense to wear ordinary clothes and blend in instead of parading around so noticeably. _Especially_ if their existence is supposed to be some sort of secret.   
  
Witches and wizards are a lot like Muggles that way. A sardonic voice commented, and we both looked up at Michiru's father, who grinned before he went on. One thing in _far_ shorter supply than you'd expect it to be is common sense. Although the people who actually live and work in the real world' dress accordingly. It's mostly those that live off in their own little dream world or who never have any contact with Muggles that dress that way consistently.   
  
But why? Michiru asked, frustrated. Robes make no sense.   
  
Stylistic reasons, originally, perhaps. Her father shrugged. Now . . . in my opinion, it's just plain tradition more than anything else.   
  
Michiru showed her opinion--shared by me, by the way--of tradition just for the sake of tradition. Seeing that her father wasn't leaving yet, she shrugged and turned back to the list.   
  
We skimmed over the books; the titles indicated a wide array of what would possibly be very intriguing subjects, but neither they nor any of the authors rang a bell. Then, we saw the second item on the list of Other Equipment'--a cauldron. I couldn't help it. On top of the black robes and the pointy hats, it was just too much. I burst out laughing.   
  
Only a moment later, Michiru caught on, and she too began to laugh, as her father looked on quizzically and her mother came wandering up, probably wondering what had provoked such sudden hilarity. I was suddenly reminded of a line from Shakespeare's play Macbeth--a reading assignment in English class that, although we did not finish it for class, I went on to finish on my own. Double, double toil and trouble. I wheezed out, finally gaining control of my laughter.   
  
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. Michiru completed the thought, her giggles also beginning to slow and stop. But then we made the mistake of looking at each other, which set us off completely again.  
  
This time, however, we were not alone. Our laughter slowed to a stop as we watched both Michiru's parents laugh almost to the point of crying, laugh until they clung to each other for the support to remain standing.   
  
Ah . . . Michiru began hesitantly, . . . it wasn't quite _that_ funny . . . I don't think . . .  
  
Michiru's mother wiped her eyes, pressing her lips together in a fashion that made me suspect she was only barely suppressing yet further laughter. It was just . . . our Potions instructor was _such_ a dried up old stick, and he hated every one of us . . . I can't imagine what would have happened had we been cheeky enough to actually do that while mixing up one of those boring old potions we had to learn. Potions is where you'll probably be getting the most use out of your cauldrons, by the way. She added absently, before returning to snickering.   
  
Michiru's father shook his head. He probably would have docked our Houses fifty points. At least.  
  
I asked. I got the feeling that he was not talking about a building in which one dwells--or at least, not solely.   
  
He nodded. All Hogwarts students are divided into four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Each student earns or loses points for his house, and at the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the house cup and is honored at the end of the year banquet.  
  
What're the differences between the houses? Michiru asked.   
  
Her parents exchanged an . . . I would almost have said uncomfortable look. The four houses tend to attract different sorts of people. I won't give any specifics. Her father finally replied.   
  
We don't want to unduly prejudice you against any one house. Her mother added, most likely in response to our slightly outraged Why not?!' looks. We want you to be happy with whichever house you end up in.   
  
And I knew and Michiru knew that that was all we would get out of them on that subject. So we exchanged a glance as I, at least, sighed inwardly, and turned back to our lists.   
  
* * *  
  
By common unspoken consent, we put off the trip to Diagon Alley. Neither I nor Michiru were quite willing yet, I think, to leave this haven we had so luckily and unexpectedly found. A few days after our abrupt language lesson, cured of the lingering headache, I sat outside, reveling in the feel of the wind dancing through my hair, slapping random tendrils into my face that I did not even bother to brush away. It was about time for me to cut it again, I realized, now that the back had gotten long enough to where it could be blown into my face.   
  
But then . . . sitting outside on that beautiful day and thinking pseudo-deep thoughts, I asked myself . . . why cut it? I like my hair short, but I've also always rather missed having it long, missed the feel of it blowing against my face and lying against my neck. The real reason I cut it originally, shortly after I disassociated' myself from my family, was as a statement. A slap in the face to my father, promising without words that I would be a better man than he had ever been. Then, subtly . . . the masquerade became so much a part of my life, that I almost began to forget what it had been like to be a girl. I enjoyed being a man, racing cars and bikes and having the most beautiful and wonderful girlfriend in the world.   
  
Oh, Michiru knew I was a girl from the very beginning. She met me in her search to find Sailor Uranus, after all, although I'd like to think she would have noticed anyway. That's how perceptive she is. Or perhaps it's just my love for her talking, I don't really know. But my masquerade gave our relationship the semblance of normality to passing strangers, in a world that as a whole merely tolerates relationships like ours--at best. It even allowed her the momentary approval of her original parents--momentary only because, unlike to the world at large, we actually showed her parents the truth.   
  
And now . . . returned to eleven years old, I no longer have anything to prove, haven't really for quite a while. Especially now that I have Michiru's parents, I could care less what mine think. Not that I ever did, after I no longer had to. As for our relationship . . . I sincerely doubt that it will become physical for quite a while--we are only eleven after all, even if our minds are those of seventeen-year-olds--and even when it does, Michiru will be happy, her parents will be happy (the only set of parents I really care about), I'll be happy, and I find now that I care even less about what the rest of the world thinks than I used to. And I really do miss the feel of long hair . . . so perhaps I will let it grow out for a while, before I resume the masquerade--if I ever choose to.  
  
* * *  
  
A few weeks later, when my hair had grown long enough to where it was noticeable, when it was obvious I had made no move to cut it and had begun wearing it in a (incredibly short!) ponytail, Michiru just smiled at me. So, you've decided to become a girl again. She stated, and I could see it in her eyes that she was proud of me, for beginning to come out of the shell it had taken me so long to create. Good, now we have to go shopping.   
  
I've never been that much of a girl! I wanted to protest, but the look in her eyes stopped me, and her smile. She doesn't smile like that much anymore, ever since Galaxia. Neither do I, so every smile counts more these days, and if it makes Michiru happy to take me shopping, I won't complain. Besides, I figured out a long time ago that nothing is _that_ bad, as long as she's with me. I've caught myself thinking many times before that if, when I die, I have to choose between a Heaven without her or a Hell by her side, Heaven wouldn't stand a chance. As long as Michiru is with me, nothing can take me down, not permanently.   
  
Not even shopping. Although I think she made that trip especially torturous, as if to test my resolve. Surely going into that many stores isn't actually necessary! But I survived, because she was there with me.  
  
Regardless of my longer hair, I still don't particularly like dresses, and I continue to wear pants most of the time. But every now and then I wear a dress, and she smiles at me, and the feelings of silliness and discomfort are instantly made worth it. Although I think she's finally coming to appreciate the value of pants, since she's decided to see if she can peek into my world, as I am peeking into hers.   
  
I smile more too and, though I doubt I'll ever figure out why, my smiles seem to have a similar effect on her that hers have on me. Just a side effect of loving someone so deeply, so all-encompassingly, that you would do anything for them, and they would do anything for you in return, I suppose.   
  
The reversion to eleven has made me more philosophical and introspective, and although I still enjoy running like nothing else (and can't wait until I can get my hands on a race car, or at least a motorbike, again), I begin to see the depth to Michiru's music and her art where before I only knew its beauty. I've thought a lot about the past, especially that short time after I met Michiru when it was more than just me--and her. I'd have done anything for our princess; my loyalty to her ran nearly as deeply as my love for Michiru.   
  
We made the wrong decision when we decided to attempt to double-cross Galaxia, I'll admit that freely now. Yet, in doing so we did what we thought was right. That's what sets us apart from the other senshi. The Inners and Hotaru and, of course, the princess, they follow their hearts in fighting, secure in the knowledge that they will win because they have goodness and friendship on their sides. A depressingly optimistic view of life, in my opinion, doomed to failure eventually.   
  
Yet, although their philosophy of life is so flawed, by following that philosophy they've managed to win every time. Hotaru, I think, sees the flaws as clearly as Michiru and I, but she doesn't put her faith in that philosophy so much as she puts her faith in the princess. And Hotaru has always had more blind faith than either of us combined--we're both too cynical by nature.  
  
Setsuna, I've always thought, is buried in the flows of Time, helpless to interfere with events most of the time. Regardless of the power that accompanies it, I don't think I'd ever be willing or able to take on her job, forced to stand by and watch events pass you by, knowing you could help, yet also knowing that you were forbidden to interfere. Knowing that, if you attempted to help, even if you could, that aid might bring about the very future you were trying to prevent.   
  
She has the hardest time of any of us, yet she is ever able to present us with that mask of calm that reassures us that everything is alright. I caught her drunk once. I don't think I was supposed to have seen, she had hidden in her room so as to be less likely to be disturbed. She was crying, and the things she whispered to herself, never knowing that I too was listening . . . no one can live through that much solitude, all those millennia of loneliness with only the Gates of Time for company, and remain sane. No one . . . except her.   
  
In accepting Galaxia's offer, Michiru and I did the unthinkable to anyone else on the team. We took our fate into our own hands instead of blindly trusting in our princess, and tried our hardest to destroy her evil ourselves. The only problem--other than the fact that Galaxia had no star seed for us to take and our plan was thus doomed from the start--is that in taking our own fates into our hands, we also took the fates of others. Regardless of what the other senshi think, we never meant for our plan to hurt anyone but ourselves. Thankfully, I don't remember the interlude in which we actually did the deed--it was wiped away by those bracelets, leaving only the memory of tainted power. If I could actually remember the look on poor Hotaru's face when I killed her . . . or maybe it was Setsuna I killed . . . I don't think I would ever be able to live with myself, much less proceed as if life was, more or less, normal.  
  
And pretend that Michiru and her parents fill the hole left in my heart where my bond with the other senshi used to reside; until we snapped that bond as if it were nothing, never realizing until we lost it how wonderful and special that bond had been. Now the situation has been simplified until, once again, it is just Michiru and I, locked away from the rest of the world by the barriers within our own hearts.  
  
  
  
End Note: I have no idea how J.K.Rowling makes up spells. So, for the literary translation spell, I took _Anglicus_ for the language, English (Anglican or Angles being the first good word I could think of, at which I added the -cus to make is sound more like a mystical spell word)_ Linguisticus_ (again, I took the word linguistic or perhaps linguist and added the -cus, because it felt like it fit) and_ Veritas_, which made up the actual intent of the spell--_veritas_ means, I believe, 'truth' in Latin. Linguistic truth from English.   
  
Oh well, I don't suppose it has to make sense. That's the way my standard translation spell stands for now--but if you can think of a better one (or better yet, a canon one!) please let me know.   
  
  
7/21/2001  
6/14/2002


	4. Diagon Alley

I don't own Sailormoon. I don't own Harry Potter. First Harry Potter character found here. Don't worry, you'll see Harry himself in the next chapter.   
  
I have no idea what Michiru's mother's name is, so I made one up. Her first name (Sachiko) comes from a H. Beam Piper story and her (maiden) last name (Amiru) comes from a possible shortening of the pairing Ami X Michiru. I don't know if her father's name (Aki) has been mentioned yet, but that I chose because I liked it. It means 'autumn', I think. In other words, completely random Japanese-sounding words that have absolutely no bearing on canon reality. If you know of Michiru's mother (or father)'s real name, please let me know.  
  
Oh, and I have no clue whether any of the senshi are left-handed or not. If you do, I'd be glad to know that too.   
  
Enjoy!  
  
Notes 6/15: Changes. Some are obvious, most are just a few shifts in wording. No major plot changes. Go ahead, read.   
  
  
  
3. Diagon Alley  
  
  
  
Here we are. Michiru's mother said proudly, a gleam of amusement in her eyes, as Michiru and I gazed around in wide-eyed wonder. So much that I had never even thought existed, just waiting for me to walk up to and gaze at. It was, in a word, overwhelming. Mother was peering at the list of school supplies we had received, so I felt less guilty just standing there with my chin hanging only a couple of inches above the ground and my eyes as wide as dinner plates.   
  
First cauldrons and the other equipment, then wands, clothing, books, and then we'll just wander to see if there are any pets that catch your eyes. Sound good?  
  
What are we waiting for? Michiru asked, as I brought my chin back into position and nodded fervent agreement. I took back everything bad I had ever said about shopping. I couldn't _wait_ to get started!  
  
* * *  
  
I looked at the pewter cauldron with increased respect. Standard size 2 is larger than it sounds. I admitted. We could probably fit most of the rest of the supplies in them.   
  
Mother smiled, her cerulean eyes twinkling. That is the general idea.  
  
What is the telescope for? Michiru asked, pointing to the two that had been paid for and placed (within their cases, of course!), one in each cauldron. Her mother laughed.  
  
Astrology of course, what else? She cocked her head. Some astronomy too, but this is a school of magic for the most part, after all. And since magic works, is it that much of a stretch to believe that occasionally astrology does as well? That amused twinkle was in her cerulean eyes again. Of course, as with Muggles, it's still mostly smoke, mirrors, and absolute nonsense.   
  
Do we learn to read crystal balls too? My question was not completely sarcastic, amazing as that might seem, but her reply still completely floored me.   
  
Goodness no, not yet! You aren't allowed to sign up for Divination until your third year, and even then, it's only an elective.   
  
Can we say, facefault?  
  
* * *  
  
The next place we stopped at, Ollivanders (Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC), was not nearly as impressive. Small, narrow, rather dark and dusty, the room's only decoration a single small chair and shelves and shelves of narrow boxes--there must have been thousands. To solve the chair dilemma in the most expedient way possible, Michiru and I sat on the floor together, leaving the chair for our mother.   
  
Ah. New customers, I see. A soft voice sounded near us. Michiru shifted slightly, the only indication she gave of her startlement. I felt him enter--my contact with the winds, like Michiru's with the sea, had only deepened recently and I had easily sensed the shifting in the air currents indicative of another person entering the room. It was becoming easier and easier for me to keep a constant light contact with the winds, a fact that both excited me . . . and kind of scared me. As I looked up, it seemed for a moment that he was almost disappointed by his failure to scare us, but that expression--if it had even existed at all--quickly disappeared.   
  
He peered nearsightedly at Mother, before nodding. Yes, I remember you. Sachiko Amiru. Cedar, phoenix feather, eight-and-a-third inches. Good wand, that. These your daughters?   
  
So he was sharper-eyed than he gave the appearance of being. In the dim light of the shop, wearing jeans and a baggy T-shirt with my hair tied back in a tight ponytail, very few people would recognize me as a girl. More than when I kept my hair short and made a point of acting as much like a guy as possible, but still not that many.   
  
She smiled. This is my daughter Michiru and her best friend, Haruka Ten'ou. They're both just beginning at Hogwarts this year.   
  
He nodded, then turned to us. Wand arm?   
  
Mother smiled. Usually your wand arm ends up being your dominant hand. She stage-whispered.   
  
I answered immediately, followed soon after by Michiru's   
  
I see. And I got the idea that he did see, more than many people gave him credit for. You first, girl. He pointed at me and I stood up, at a loss. A silver tape measure, previously sticking ever so slightly out of his pocket, now began measuring me as he got up onto a stool, taking down various boxes. He continued to talk as he took down the boxes. With many young people, especially as young as you kids, it's hard to figure out the dominant characteristics of your personalities, since they are not yet fully formed. One's personality figures greatly in which wand chooses you, and often the wand reflects the person someone will become. Take You-Know-Who. No one knew he would turn out so bad, but his wand--yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Very powerful. And no one can deny that he was powerful. Evil, yes, but one of the most powerful wizards this world has seen in quite a while.  
  
You and your friend, though, your personalities are much more distinctly formed, almost as if you had lived longer than eleven, twelve years. Sometimes people who live very eventful lives are like that, as well, but for the most part, personality formation comes only with the passing of years. For you, I know of maybe four, five wands that are nearly guaranteed to be a perfect match, much narrower a selection than I usually have to wade through. Same with your friend, there. Even her mother was harder to pinpoint, about as hard as a normal eleven year old.   
  
Most likely because we _weren't _normal eleven-year-olds. Or even truly eleven. At least, not so far as our experiences were concerned. Still, I wonder what he thought of the reason for our . . . difference. Not that it mattered, really--whatever he postulated couldn't possibly be nearly as strange as the truth.   
  
What's the difference between the wands? Michiru asked, and to a certain extent I wondered the same. After all, a stick of wood is a stick of wood, right?  
  
Wands are very different, child, very different. He seemed almost offended. You must find a good match in order to do your magic best. Never quite get the same responses--or even necessarily the right ones--with another person's wand. And of course, all the wands are different, as all the unicorns, dragons, and phoenixes we draw the magical part of the wand from are individual.  
  
Now I was even more interested. Is there any symbolic significance to the different species of cores?   
  
He just rubbed his chin, and I got the idea that ordinarily he didn't talk nearly as much. Finally, he climbed down, holding three boxes. Couldn't find the other one I was looking for. Pretty good sign that it wasn't a good match, staying hidden like that. Here, give this one a wave. Gingko, eight inches, dragon heartstring.   
  
Dragon heartstring, He continued as he handed me the wand, is generally attracted to very loyal people. Generally, I say. You are going to Hogwarts? Yes, there are many in Hufflepuff with dragon heartstring wands. No sooner did I touch the wand than it felt wrong to me, and I shook my head nearly involuntarily as he snatched it away. Figures.   
  
He looked at me with increased interest in his silvery, moon-like eyes. You look like you have the makings of a good wand dealer. Interested in finding a summer job? Stymied, I opened my mouth, and shut it, having absolutely no idea what to say. It sounded interesting, very interesting in fact. But . . . I _was_ only eleven now . . . was that even allowed?  
  
He chuckled, another action I had the feeling he did not do very often. Try this one, then. Willow, ten-and-three-quarters inches, unicorn hair. This time, I knew almost as immediately that this was the wand for me and, theatrically, I brought it slicing through the air almost as if it was my Space Sword. A crescent of blue and green sparkles flew out of the wand, like the vacuum blade my Space Sword creates, and impacted harmlessly on the far wall. I grinned, exhilarated by how completely _right_ this wand felt, and he nodded approvingly. Yes, I thought the willow would match your personality well. And the unicorn hair . . . signifies purity. Purity of heart. I'm not surprised your wand holds the unicorn. Not at all surprised.  
  
Pure heart . . . if I hadn't been holding the wand, still in the feedback cycle of happiness and well-being it induced in me at first, my face would have fallen despite my efforts to remain expressionless. Yes, our hearts were pure . . . pure enough to hold two of the three Talismans. Yet I had a hard time believing that our hearts remained pure. Not after all we have done.   
  
The silver tape measure had begun to measure Michiru as the man took _my_ wand (amazing how short a time it took me to become so territorial--no longer was it merely a wand, but now and forever more mine) and placed it gently back into its box before climbing to put up the wand I had rejected out of hand and picking up three others. The first of these three he opened and gave to Michiru. Beechwood, thirteen inches, phoenix feather. He snatched it out of her hands even before the no' in my throat had the time to become a reality, and gave me a glance. Saw that too, didn't you. Yes, you'd definitely make a good assistant, once I've given you a little training. Phoenix feather tends to be attracted to people with undauntable courage. He nodded sharply.   
  
Dogwood, nine inches, dragon heartstring. This Michiru held a little longer before it was obvious that the wand wasn't the right one for her.   
  
No, dragon doesn't really fit you either, does it. Loyalty, yes, but not blind and subject to change as your beliefs are. It still stunned me, how much insight he could gain into our personalities just by the wands we chose . . . and even more, from the ones we rejected. He took the box I had rejected by default. Maple, twelve inches, unicorn hair.  
  
Hm. Almost there. He opened the last box. This one should work, since none of the others did. Silver maple, eleven inches, unicorn hair.   
  
The wand swished through the air, and green sparkles lit the air, floating down around our faces, almost like miniscule fireflies. Michiru, the man and I all spoke at the same time. This was her wand, as obviously hers as the other had been mine. His eyes found me again. Yes, you definitely have the touch.   
  
Do you think I could come work here during the summer? I asked Michiru's mother. I felt I had the right to make the decision, but she's the one who would probably be providing transportation, and she really is almost like a real mother to me. The shop, which had previously seemed so gloomy and closed in, now glittered with a serene mystery, almost as if Michiru's sparkles still hung, half unseen, in the air.   
  
I think, she paused, looking at the man, That we could work something out. If that is what you want to do, I trust you to make the right decision.  
  
A smile lit my face, almost as bright as the one when I first held my wand. Thank you. This is what I want to do. This place--it's magic like I haven't seen in a long time.   
  
If that is what you see, perhaps you do belong here. Michiru's eyes reflected her agreement, slightly puzzled as to what I would find so interesting in this dingy little shop, but I didn't mind too much. This place really was magic, filled with so many possibilities, and I felt rather sorry for the people who, coming in here, only saw the tiny, dimly lit so-called reality.   
  
* * *  
  
Must everything be in black? Michiru complained softly as we stood inside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and I couldn't help but agree. Black is a nice color--though I much prefer a dark navy blue--but enough is enough!   
  
At least it doesn't say the gloves have to be black. I pointed out. And we could get colored sashes or something so that it won't be completely black.   
  
Michiru's mother smiled. Now why didn't I ever think of that when I went to Hogwarts? Having a colored sash would have been ever so much better than just monotonous black, black, and more black, day in and day out.  
  
Michiru and I shared the same thought at all that black, for years on end.   
  
However, the dragonhide gloves came only in the darker colors: black, midnight blue, dark green, burgundy, and a truly nasty blackish/greenish yellow. Can you bleach the color out of them, or dye them, or something? I asked.   
  
The young wizard at the counter replied, Dragonhide refuses to hold any dyes, except occasionally some of the darkest shades. I have heard that some people over at the Ministry of Magic are attempting to develop some lighter hued dyes, but so far there has been little success, as far as I know. He grimaced. Except--the one dye they have managed to come up with--a truly eye-blinding shade of neon pink.   
  
I sighed. So much for adding color to our garb in that category. So I got a pair and a couple of spares in the midnight blue, while Michiru got the dark green.   
  
Of regular cloth, however, there was no shortage of bright hues. Some of them a bit _too_ bright for my tastes. They had a whole range of blues and greens, of which we bought a strip of nearly every color (except the olive green . . . ew), plus a nice selection of yellow/golds and grey/silvers, and even a few of the nicer shades of red.   
  
This should make us a bit more noticeable. Michiru commented, and I grinned. Not that I necessarily wanted to be the talk of the school, but sure, why not? We might even start a trend! And it would do these people good to shake them out of their complacency a bit. I began considering flowers and how I could attach them to those pointy hats--not that I planned on wearing them any more than necessary. Hm . . . I'd have to talk to Michiru and her mother about that.   
  
* * *  
  
The trip through Flourish and Botts was simple and out of the way quickly, as we each bought a copy of the eight school books necessary according to the list. Plus, on a whim, we bought a book on elemental theory that looked like it held some good information that we might be able to apply to our bonds with the elements--mine with the wind and Michiru's with the sea.   
  
Then we went window shopping. Diagon Alley is filled with so many incredible shops, from candy shops with the strangest types of candy I'd ever seen, to a shop devoted completely to Quidditch, a strange wizarding game similar to soccer, only played in the air with broomsticks. It sounded interesting, and better yet, each of the houses at Hogwarts had their own team. Unfortunately, as first years weren't allowed to bring broomsticks, I sincerely doubted that we would be able to play. Unless we formed our own, juvenile team? But no, not when we weren't allowed broomsticks in the first place. A pity, that. I've always thought it would be neat to be able to fly.  
  
Finally we stumbled upon a smallish shop called the Magical Menagerie, a pet shop by the looks of it. Of course, we went in, since we hadn't chosen our pets yet.   
  
Inside it was smelly and noisy from all the animals stuffed into so small a space. Cats, large black rats, ravens and other birds of all shapes and sizes . . . every inch of the shop seemed fascinating to two small eleven-year-old girls in search of a pet. Since Michiru figured fish wouldn't make very good pets for taking to Hogwarts (although she planned to get a few to put in our room--we both still remembered the wonderful aquarium on the top floor of our apartment building with great fondness) she came with me towards the bird section.   
  
I wasn't quite sure I wanted an owl, but I knew I wanted to have a bird of some sort. I've always enjoyed watching them fly and envied them deeply that ability. When I was younger, before I stopped dreaming, I dreamed of flying nearly every night, of seeing the world so small below and reveling in the feeling of the wind. Yet despite that, when we reached the birds I didn't see any that seemed right to me. Michiru, on the other hand, instantly fell in love with a tiny, baby snowy owl.   
  
Then I heard the voice and stiffened, the slight movement beside me indicating that Michiru had hear it too.   
  
Dissgussting. The voice commented, its tone wry and humorous, a very likeable voice with a slight lisp. Adult elf owlss are the ssame ssize and they tasste a lot better.   
  
The voice, I realized, seemed to be coming from the hole in a fake log inserted in one of the nearby glass cages. We're not planning on eating it. Michiru replied sharply.   
  
A small silver head peeked out of the log, two red eyes regarding us measuringly. I know. It sighed, writhing out until it had wrapped itself around the log several times. A pity that humanss have sso little tasste. The snake was completely silver from its head to the tip of its tail, with eyes that reminded me more of Chibiusa's red-brown than Setsuna's garnet.   
  
I smiled. Who cared if it wasn't a bird? I had just found the perfect pet. Michiru knew what my smile meant, and a look at her eyes showed that she approved. I'm not the only one with a slightly warped sense of humor, after all.  
  
And the snake? Well, it didn't have to talk to us, and the fact that it chose to was a pretty good indication that it agreed as well. Plus, later it told us so. And the bird seemed to understand that the snake wasn't going to eat it, so it too was happy.   
  
Michiru's mother seemed to have a few qualms about buying a snake, but she was also inclined to let us make our own decisions. All in all, the trip to Diagon Alley was a stupendous success. Michiru's father, I think, enjoyed the joke a great deal more than her mother, when we called him to tell him about the day--he, unfortunately, had not come along. Even gave us a few tips on how we could use it to create the maximum amount of mischief possible--it's quite obvious, now, from where Michiru got the less serious side of her nature.   
  
Not that I needed too much help on the topic of creating mischief. After all, it's not like letting a snake loose in a room full of _girls_ (as opposed to logical human beings that just happen to have been born female--like Michiru and I) wouldn't provoke plenty of hilarity, all on its own. I must admit, though, that the scenario with the fudgesicle and three paper clips has its own charm . . . perhaps I'd have to try it out, sometime . . .  
  
Needless to say, Hogwarts had _no_ idea what it was getting into.   
  
  
  
7/21/2001  
6/15/2002


	5. Hogwarts Express

Thank you to all you lovely people who reviewed me already. I really am happy that someone (besides me!) enjoys this story.   
  
Oh, and by the way . . . I don't own Harry Potter or Sailor Moon. Just in case you were wondering.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Notes 6/21: Somehow . . . I managed to completely rewrite this chapter. So . . . it's rather different. Similar . . . but different. And a _lot_ longer. Almost twice as long. Heh. Heh heh. -_-;;  
  
  
  
4. Hogwarts Express  
  
  
  
After our week in London, spent mostly gawking at the various shops on Diagon Alley, it was finally time to part ways. We stood near the entrance to King's Cross, the train station from which we would take the Hogwarts Express to Hogwarts. An awkward silence had spread to encompass the three of us: Michiru, her mother, and I. Her father hadn't been able to get leave from work at the last moment, so he had not accompanied us.   
  
We just stood there for several minutes, Michiru and I with our carts holding our school supplies and other assorted items, Michiru's mother gripping tightly with both hands the handle to the Muggle suitcase that had held her clothes for the week. A loud clock nearby sounded the half hour--10:30--and we all jumped.   
  
I suppose I ought to get going . . . Michiru's mother trailed off. After all, I have to return the rental car . . . and get to the airport at least two to three hours ahead of time . . . I really should have left a few minutes ago . . .   
  
Don't worry, I think we can find the platform ourselves, right? I threw a glance at Michiru who took up the slack by nodding her emphatic agreement.   
  
. . . after all, it's not like we haven't been on trains alone before. She added, smiling wryly. We can figure something out. Although we probably ought to get going too.   
  
Silence, again, this time for a shorter period of time. Then, suddenly, we were all hugging each other and crying and wiping each others' tears away and assuring each other that it's not like we're going to be gone forever, and we can always send each other owls, right?   
  
I will miss you so much . . . I whispered through the lump in my throat, still hugging Michiru's mother, the woman I had come to think of as mother to me as well, in all but name. Being your daughter, if only for this short a time, has been an experience that I will treasure forever.   
  
I, too, have greatly enjoyed having a second daughter. She replied, tears still shining in her eyes. Something indefinable passed across her face, so quickly I could not quite tell what that emotion was, that had been shunted out of the way so efficiently.   
  
Finally, I drew away, noting absently that Michiru had already done so. As I wiped those last tears from my eyes, I reassumed the mantle of strong, responsible pseudo-seventeen-year-old.   
  
Again, the uncomfortable silence descended, but all three of us acknowledged that this was the last time. Well . . . I guess I'll see you at Christmas.   
  
Nearly four months from now . . . it seemed so far. Yeah. See you at Christmas.   
  
Then, what was left for us to do, but turn and walk away. Still, I paused, watching the retreating teal-haired figure that looked so much like her daughter. Watched, until even her back descended out of sight, and I turned to see Michiru had turned and watched much as I had.   
  
. . . I guess this is it.   
  
No turning back now.   
  
Where had all my enthusiasm gone? We were embarking on a new adventure, one that this time held a much higher probability for our continued survival than usual. One we had been anticipating practically since we first received the letters. So . . . what was stopping me now?   
  
. . . I miss them already. Michiru said softly. And I realized that was why. I had forgotten, if I had ever learned, what it was like to be a part of a loving family. And, suddenly, it was a feeling that I very much didn't want to lose.   
  
So I just took that extra step to Michiru's side and put my arm around her waist. With a soft sigh, she leaned against me, letting her head fall to my shoulder for the moment. I suppressed the desire to turn around once again and simply nodded, my cheek against her soft hair. . . . so do I.   
  
So do I.  
  
* * *  
  
Platform Nine and three-quarters is not visible to the naked eye . . .' Michiru quoted what her mother had told us the former evening in our room at the Leaky Cauldron, as we discussed the following day. She never did explain exactly what that meant, though. Just that we'd find it between platforms nine and ten.   
  
Only now, when it was rather too late, did I wonder at the wisdom of coming on, assuring Michiru's mother that we would be able to cope quite well. I had forgotten that there was magic involved, a magical system with which I was entirely unfamiliar. I glanced warily up at the clock just as it rang quarter to the hour. So we had fifteen minutes left, more or less, before our train was due to leave.   
  
The air here doess not tasste right. Keldir, my snake, muttered from within the cloth bag he was being held in for the duration of our journey. I ssay, old chap, I don't ssupposse you'd be willing to let me out, would you?  
  
Despite the excessive (and mostly faked) English accent, I could tell the request was sincere. Finally, I shrugged, and opened the bag just enough for him to exit, climbing up my arm to coil loosely around my neck and upper body, his head right below my chin. Ah. I was right. The air here most definitely does taste different.  
  
Extending my feelings . . . my rapport with the air, if you will . . . I came quickly to the conclusion that he was correct. Michiru. The air currents around here are . . . warped. Not the way they should be if all was as it appeared to be. It feels almost as if there was an open space instead of a solid wall . . . I looked around, then finally focused on the solid brick column several yards in front of us. . . . there.   
  
. . . not visible to the naked eye . . .' Michiru blinked. This is what Mom must have meant. Somehow, they've managed to construct an illusion of a brick wall in order to safeguard the platform from people who don't belong.  
  
We rolled our carts closer to the wall, and I reached out my hand. Furtively, shielding the motion with both my and Michiru's bodies, so that hopefully no funny questions would be asked. We wouldn't want to attract undue attention to the area, after all.   
  
Although we had been half-expecting the outcome, both Michiru and I gasped as, coming into contact with the wall, I instead reached through thin air, my fingers seemingly disappearing into the brick. We exchanged looks. First I, then Michiru, pushed our carts through the so-called wall' . . . and into an entirely different area. Much larger than any of the platforms outside, it was also far more crowded. And more . . . interesting. It is not at the everyday train station, after all, that one sees owls flying around, numerous cats making their way through the crowd and ignoring the toads and rats that also abounded, if in lesser quantity, and people dressed in flowing robes that varied anywhere from solid black to neon pink with orange stripes.   
  
In my plain blue jeans, goldenrod yellow T-shirt, and somewhat ratty sneakers, in fact, I was beginning to feel almost underdressed. It felt like even the children around not already in robes had made an effort to dress up. I shrugged the feeling off for what it was--silly--and the two of us began to weave our ways through the crowd, angling more toward the end of the train--as I had the suspicion that that was where most of the empty seats would end up being.   
  
We had turned toward a door, the end in sight, when a trunk--much like the ones we possessed--crashed down right in front of our carts. Avarana--that's Michiru's owl--screeched her displeasure as our abrupt stop caused her to bump the front of the cage. Michiru and I exchanged glances and were about ready, shrugging, to maneuver around the obstacle and pay it no mind, when the girl fell on top of the trunk, dropping out of thin air, and my cart abruptly suffered the addition of a small grey cat.   
  
The girl exclaimed. She stood, slowly, one hand rubbing her rear contemplatively. Standing, she looked to be about the same height as Michiru--perhaps an inch, no more, shorter than me. A single high ponytail gathered cotton candy pink hair away from a heart-shaped face that seemed vaguely familiar to me for some reason, and in each ear hung a simple gold loop, thickened in the middle to resemble a crescent moon--much like the earrings I had worn as Sailor Uranus. Red-brown eyes flicked around, taking in the scene and coming to rest on our carts and us with an expression of chagrin.   
  
I've got to talk to Puu about those landings, she muttered, and both Michiru and I started. Suddenly suspicious, I picked up the grey cat--no longer as tiny as I remembered, if not quite fully grown either. Sure enough, there was the golden crescent moon, shining innocently from the middle of the cat's head. Diana's head, I should say.  
  
I passed Diana over to the girl. I like the new hairstyle. What prompted the change?   
  
Huh? Thank you. She took the cat back and her eyes focussed fully on me. Do I know you? Flick, her eyes went to Michiru, who still looked essentially the same as she always had--just smaller. They widened, then flicked back to me and narrowed. You look . . . She blink. Haruka? And you were twitting _me_ about a change in hairstyle?!  
  
I shrugged elaborately. Had to say something to get the conversation started.   
  
Her eyes still flicked back and forth. What happened to you two? Is it a new enemy?  
  
More like an unforeseen side-effect to an old one. Michiru said wryly. She glanced over at the clock on the wall, and I followed her gaze. Five minutes, maybe less. Listen, can we do our talking after we board the train?   
  
Oh, you're on this train, too? Chibiusa sighed in relief. I'm glad someone I know is. So where is it taking us? Puu only said that it would be someplace safe.   
  
Michiru cast a harried glance at the clock again. We'll fill you in later. I assured her. Now let's get on before it leaves without us!  
  
* * *  
  
The black-haired boy sat in a shadowed corner of the compartment, watching the red-haired family with a certain amount of envy. He wished he had a family like that. Noise at the door to the compartment attracted his attention as a pink-haired girl backed her way in, dragging a trunk. Turning her head, probably so she could see where she was going, she seemed to catch sight of him for the first time.   
  
Abruptly she dropped her trunk, blushing, and bowed slightly, spouting something incomprehensible at him. Beautiful-sounding, but incomprehensible nonetheless. Not getting the expected response--whatever that was supposed to be--she frowned slightly and tried again--with different words this time, he thought. Finally she turned and said yet a third thing over her shoulder.   
  
Another head popped into view, this one with good-natured blue-green eyes and longish sandy blonde hair. Please excuse my friend. The second person indicated the pink-haired girl. She hasn't learned English yet. She was just apologizing for intruding--we were under the assumption that this compartment was empty.   
  
Yet a third head popped in. Would you mind if we sat in here? This is the first empty compartment we've found.   
  
He blinked and shook his head. Oh, good, thank you. A brief spurt in that other language and the pink-haired girl bowed her head, grinning apologetically in silent thanks, before commencing with dragging the trunk in again.   
  
Finally all three trunks were brought in and the other three sat down with sighs of relief, the pink-haired girl beside him and the other two--the blonde that he _thought_ was a boy, and the third person, a girl with blue-green hair and deep cerulean eyes--opposite him. Feeling unaccountably shy, he asked quietly, If you don't mind telling me . . . what was that language you were speaking earlier? It sounded very pretty.   
  
That was Japanese. The blonde informed him. All three of us are from Japan, but . . . Here he paused and made a brief exchange with the pink-haired girl, . . . Usagi hasn't been taught English yet. For some reason he rubbed his forehead and exchanged a rueful grin with the blue-haired girl.   
  
The pink-haired girl said, slowly enough that he could distinguish the syllables. Unfortunately, it still made no sense.   
  
A brief spate, quietly, from the blue-haired girl--a reminder?--and the pink-haired girl nodded, again blushing slightly and looking embarrassed. She pointed to her nose. Usagi Chiba.   
  
Harry Potter. He replied, then braced for the inevitable. When it didn't come, he smiled. Was there, finally, someone as clueless about how _special_ he was, as he had been?   
  
I'm Haruka Ten'ou. The blonde continued the introductory sequence.   
  
Michiru Kaiou. Pleased to meet you. The blue-haired girl completed it. Will this also be your first year at Hogwarts?   
  
With these people who evidently had no clue as to who he was, he allowed himself to relax. I didn't even know Hogwarts existed until I got the letters. He admitted shamefacedly.   
  
Neither did we. The other two replied simultaneously.   
  
My mother and father both knew about Hogwarts--they went there--but they believed I was a . . . Squib? Someone born into a magical family who can't do magic . . . so they never told me about it. So they were quite as surprised as we were when we got our letters. Michiru added with a small laugh. Both parents went to Hogwarts? Harry assumed that she was probably part of one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about. And they raised their daughter as a Muggle? Sternly, he called his attention back, only barely catching the question she threw his way. What about your parents? How did they react?   
  
My parents . . . are dead. Again he felt that twinge of loss--and hatred, toward the Dursleys for never telling him how they really died. I've lived with my aunt and uncle since I was very small. His eyes narrowed as he thought about them. They raised me without ever even letting me know the magical world existed because they wanted to stamp out any taint' I had gained from my parents' He said bitterly. They even lied and said my parents had died in a car crash.   
  
What really happened to them? Michiru's voice was soft, sympathetic. In the background, Harry could hear a Japanese murmur--Haruka translating their conversation to Usagi?--but his emotions had distanced him so far that it was no more than a murmur. Another sound--a whistle?--distracted him little more, and he hardly noticed that the train had pulled away from the station.  
  
They were murdered. His voice rang coldly in his ears, echoing through the distance he felt between his voice and his body. Butchered by . . . He paused for only a second, remembering Hagrid's awful hesitation before saying the name and his reluctance to do so at all. Should he follow the older man's example? He shook his head. What could a name do? . . . by Voldemort.   
  
Immediately, he had the attention of all three. Who is this Voldemort? Haruka asked, her eyes piercing. Is he still at large?  
  
Harry found himself shrugging. I'm afraid I don't know much about him. He confessed. Only that he was a Dark Lord, a very powerful one who only gained power and followers from the time of his appearance until about ten years ago. Then, he tried to kill me after he killed my parents . . . He spread his hands in a gesture of helpless inability to explain. . . . and, for some reason, he couldn't. After that, he disappeared and . . . I think . . . is supposed to be dead now.   
  
Haruka ducked his head and muttered. Though Harry couldn't be sure, the part he heard sounded to him like, . . . enemies even here? . . .  
  
A throat cleared brought four eyes to look at the compartment door. There stood a tall red-haired boy--the youngest that had boarded the train, Harry thought, from that red-haired family he had been watching. Um . . . do you think I could sit in here? The other compartments are even more full than this one. Two pairs of eyes turned to Harry, silently indicating to him that this was his decision, while Usagi continued to look at the red-haired boy.   
  
The black-haired boy shrugged, uncomfortable. Sure. We can make room, I think.   
  
As the red-haired boy came further into the compartment, Usagi stood up and silently squeezed herself in between Haruka and the door--not too hard, as the seats were wide enough to seat even three people of such small stature quite easily. The red-haired boy sat beside Harry, obviously uncomfortable, as he glanced back and forth between Harry and Haruka.   
  
Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was afraid he knew exactly what those glances in his direction were about--surely his brothers had not neglected to mention their encounter with the _famous_ Harry Potter. Looking out into the fast-passing countryside, he futilely hoped the journey would end soon.   
  
I'm Ron Weasley. The red-haired boy said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. A pause, then he blurted to Haruka. I know this is rude . . . but . . . are you a boy or a girl?!   
  
The question caught Haruka off guard enough that he let out a startled laughed. He shook his head ruefully. Even now . . . A smile still on his face, he informed Ron gently but firmly, I am a girl.   
  
_What?!_ Harry's eyes widened, but he refrained from saying anything that would embarrass him further.   
  
That question satisfied, Ron turned. Are you really Harry Potter?   
  
_Yup. I was right._ Harry nodded and raised his bangs, baring to Ron the sight that proved his identity beyond the shadow of a doubt--the lightning-shaped scar.   
  
Ron whispered, then smiled tentatively. I was . . . you know . . . I figured it might be another of Fred and George's jokes. Can you remember anything?   
  
Harry shook his head. Just a lot of green light.   
  
The spell that Voldemort used to kill your parents, probably. Haruka postulated, his--no, her!--eyes sharpening again, as they seemed to whenever Voldemort was mentioned or even implied. Or perhaps the one that ricocheted off you.   
  
Ron gasped. You . . . you said his name!!  
  
Haruka raised an eyebrow. Who? Voldemort? Why shouldn't I?  
  
Ron simply stared, too appalled to speak. Michiru shook her head and turned to her friend. Don't rag the boy, Haruka. When in Rome . . .'   
  
Haruka breathed out, sharply, too sharply to call it a proper sigh. She turned to Ron. Sorry. Much like Harry, I grew up in a Muggle family. I had never heard of Vol-- Michiru elbowed her, although Harry was not sure Ron had noticed. --You-Know-Who before, so I never learned that it was wrong to say his name.  
  
Harry felt it depended on him to change to subject to one more amenable, so he hastily asked, I saw your brothers before, Ron. What's the rest of your family like?   
  
Ron blushed slightly at suddenly becoming the center of attention, but the blush quickly faded as he dove into explanations and anecdotes, comments that sometimes led to Harry adding an anecdote of his own or, rarely, one of the Japanese girls. Thus the time passed amiably until a woman came around with a cart full of candy; candy of the likes he had never seen before.   
  
Though Ron stayed in the compartment, the three girls piled out behind Harry, peering over his shoulder at the overflowing cart. Not wanting to miss out on any new experience, Harry bought a little of everything, wondering at his ability, for the first time in his life, to actually pay for such a large quantity of _stuff_, without being forced to feel beholden to his aunt or uncle. After a whispered consultation in Japanese, the three girls bought six Chocolate Frogs--two each--and a package of Licorice Wands to split between the three of them.   
  
Back inside the compartment, the girls, upon learning the contents of Ron's sandwiches, professed themselves all wonder as to what corned beef tasted like and, in a deal that left Ron with red ears and completely confused otherwise, relieved him of all but one of his sandwiches (he had brought four) in exchange for three Chocolate Frogs and a Licorice Wand. Harry, in turn, made sure that everyone felt free to try anything from his pile--there was so much, he could hardly eat it all himself.   
  
After lunch (such as it had been) the five lapsed into contented silence, idly watching trees and fields and cows and rivers and gentle rolling hills and other such parts of the English countryside fly by. An occasional comment was made and returned or not, sometimes sparking brief conversation, sometimes dying an unlamented death. Again, the compartment door opened, only this time the culprit found himself the focus of five sets of eyes instead of only four. A somewhat chubby boy with a tear-streaked, unremarkable face gulped. Uh . . . hi? He squeaked. . . . Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all? Slowly, each of the five--even Usagi, after gaining a hurried translation from Haruka--shook their heads.   
  
Usagi said something, with a sympathetic smile, and Haruka translated. Usagi says to tell you not to worry. It'll turn up eventually.   
  
The boy nodded, looking as if he was about to break into tears again, managed a brave smile to Usagi, and left. As soon as he was gone Usagi spoke again, the slightest of frowns on her face. Michiru turned to Haruka and laid a hand on hi . . . her arm. Anata? Do you remember the spell Mom used on us?   
  
Harry wondered if anata' was a nickname of Haruka's. He certainly couldn't see how it was derived . . . but maybe it was just a Japanese thing. Haruka nodded. Well enough. She shook her head. That's right, Chi--Usagi really does need to learn English, doesn't she? She squared her shoulders and . . . reached . . . and suddenly she held a thin wooden rod, about the length of his own, he thought--her wand. _How?!_ Harry thought, startled. Noting Harry's attention to it, she mistook the question in his eyes. Willow, ten-and-three-quarters inches, unicorn hair. She said, and stood, turning to face Usagi, one hand to the door frame to steady herself.   
  
Mine's got unicorn hair too. Ron volunteered, and Haruka shot him a look that verged on irritated--he had probably disrupted her concentration. Unaware of the look, however, he bent down to root through his trunk until finally he brought out a wand, battered-looking and chipped, with a fleck of white visible on one end. 'S kinda poking out on the end, though.   
  
Haruka looked from the wand to the red-haired boy and back, a contemplative look on her face. She shook her head. You really ought to get a different wand. That one doesn't fit you at _all_. The tone of her voice indicated that she at least thought she knew what she was talking about. Her eyes narrowed. The unicorn hair feels about right, it's just too worn. Somewhat longer, I would guess, and probably a different wood. She shrugged. That would be my suggestion, at least. Whether or not that would be the right wand for you, though, I'm not certain.   
  
Suddenly, the door slid open once again, and Haruka lurched, barely avoiding falling onto the girl who had opened the door, accompanied by the boy that had come by before. Haruka muttered.   
  
Has anyone seen Neville's toad? The new girl, with bushy brown hair that looked like it was as hard to keep control of as Harry's own. Except--Harry felt a moment of sympathy for the nameless girl--it was a lot longer.   
  
He came by earlier. Michiru said calmly from her corner. We haven't seen the toad, before that or since.   
  
Oh, okay. We need to keep going then . . . She caught sight of the wand in Haruka's hand. Oh, are you going to do a spell? Neat! I hope you don't mind if I watch, you see I come from an all-Muggle family and I've done a couple of spells myself but I've never really seen anyone else work magic.   
  
This will be the first spell I've ever done. Haruka informed her. Michiru's mother cast it on both Michiru and I, but I've never cast it myself.   
  
So you're a Muggle too? How about you, Michiru, right? Is your dad a wizard too, or is it just your mom? The girl paused. Sorry, I'm being rude, aren't I? Go ahead and do your spell, I'll try not to interrupt any more.   
  
Haruka's shoulders fell in a silent sigh, but she had a small smile on her face. She made a brief comment to Usagi, who made a face but nodded. Then, concentrating on ignoring all six pairs of eyes avidly watching, she raised her wand. _Anglicus Linguisticus Veritas!_   
  
Usagi let out a brief cry and curled up in her seat, hands to her head. The four who had never seen the spell in action exchanged brief concerned glances, but soon enough the pink-haired girl's head lifted, though she still hunched slightly and squinted. You were right. She croaked, quite clearly, in English. That does hurt. Now please, tell me . . . when does it stop?! Her voice was plaintive. Harry looked at Haruka with wide eyes. Despite the nasty side-effects--which had been expected, he assumed--that was a _very_ impressive spell.   
  
Don't worry, the initial pain should be passing even now. Michiru said. You may have a slight headache for the next couple days, though.   
  
Usagi muttered, then staggered to her feet as the movement coincided with a brief lurch in the train. She turned toward the two at the door. Want some help looking for the toad? I was going to offer before, but there was something of a language barrier.   
  
The girl, already in her black robe, shook her head. Thanks for the offer, but it's tight enough squeezing down the halls sometimes with just the two of us. Besides, we'll be getting there soon enough, so you really ought to get dressed. She turned to Haruka, respect in her eyes. That was a _really_ neat spell, by the way. Thanks for letting me watch. What's your name? I'm Hermione Granger.   
  
Harry wondered if that was amusement gleaming in the blonde girl's eye, but she simply bowed her head slightly and answered solemnly. I'm Haruka Ten'ou. You are quite welcome, and I'm glad you enjoyed watching. Her smile grew a bit warmer as her eyes flicked towards Usagi. And especially glad that it worked. I will see you later, perhaps?   
  
Hermione nodded and smiled shyly back. Yeah. Later. Then she turned and was gone, the boy--Neville--her silent companion.   
  
Haruka collapsed back to her seat and reached for one of Harry's Chocolate Frogs, unwrapping it and biting its head off before it could so much as move. Ah . . . chocolate. Just what I needed. Thanks. She grinned at Harry. Casting that spell took more out of me than I expected. Carefully, she broke off a hind leg, still twitching reflexively, and held it out to Usagi. Here, want one? Sugar helps.   
  
Usagi popped it into her mouth, shuddering slightly. I know it's just a spell . . . but seeing something you eat move is rather . . . disturbing. She muttered through her mouthful of chocolate. I don't see how you can do it so . . . calmly.   
  
Haruka had a wide grin on her face. I guess your mother never cooked for you, then.   
  
Usagi paused a moment, then swatted at the grinning blonde. Hey! My mother's cooking is bad . . . well, horrible . . . but it's not some sort of mutated radioactive spawn!   
  
Haruka just laughed. After a suitable period of time looking offended, Usagi finally gave up and laughed along.   
  
You must have been friends for a long time to know each other so well. Harry said, suppressing again his envy at people who had friends. With all the strange things that seemed to happen around him and the fact that he was easily Dudley's crowd's favorite punching bag, he had been judged one of those people to stay away from when possible, so he had never had any real friends before. And now? Perhaps. Who could tell?  
  
Not so long. A year, maybe. Haruka said, after quick glances at the other two. Not much more than that, I don't think.   
  
Usagi nodded. That sounds about right. It just feels like we've known each other forever. She straightened. Which reminds me. What happened to you? You didn't have enough time to tell me earlier.   
  
Haruka made a brief motion with her hand, cutting Usagi off, then turned to the two boys somewhat apologetically. Sorry guys, but this is private business. She then turned back to Usagi and began speaking in Japanese. Soon, Michiru was adding her bit as well, and so things continued, Usagi briefly asking questions every now and then, which would provoke an increased spate of Japanese from the other two for a while.   
  
What language are they speaking? Ron whispered to Harry.   
  
Harry whispered back. All three of them are from Japan.   
  
There's a couple of fairly decent wizarding schools in Japan--good enough to be fairly high on the list of Top 100 Wizarding Schools in the World. The Daily Prophet ran an article a couple of weeks ago about it. I wonder why they're coming to Hogwarts instead. This time, Ron forgot to whisper.   
  
Surprisingly enough, there came an answer from Michiru. Both my parents attended Hogwarts, and we got acceptance letters. So after thinking it over, we decided to go ahead and come here instead of staying nearer to home.   
  
I can imagine why. Usagi said dryly, seemingly drawing from whatever information she had recently learned. Especially if the others are similarly magically talented. Then she asked her next question, in Japanese, leaving Harry to wonder exactly who the others' were.   
  
The compartment door slid open yet again. Harry wondered, briefly, if all the other compartments were similarly blessed' with so many visitors. In the doorway was the blond boy with silver eyes that he had met briefly at Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the one with the obsession with bloodlines. He wondered what the boy wanted now.   
  
Is it true? He said. Harry, having a sinking feeling he knew what was coming, resisted the urge to shout No! Why couldn't people leave him alone about it? It's not like he intentionally defeated Voldemort or something, he could hardly have done so at less than a year old. Yet people insisted on treating him like he was someone special. They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. Bingo. Got it in one. So it's you, is it?   
  
Harry sighed.   
  
And who might you be? Haruka, an expression of polite interest on her face. It was obvious that she was making a point to ignore the two other boys flanking the pale one. Thick, taller, and extremely mean-looking, Harry bet they were bodyguards of some sort, and he kept a nervous eye on the two. He wasn't nearly as confident as Haruka seemed to be.   
  
My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. The other boy said. This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle. He added, nodding to his two bodyguards. And you are?  
  
Haruka Ten'ou. She replied.   
  
Ten'ou? I don't recall that surname. But then, you're a foreigner, aren't you? He waved a hand, missing or perhaps just ignoring the flash of anger that crossed Haruka's face. No matter. So, your parents. They were a witch and a wizard, I hope?  
  
I have no idea whatsoever. Haruka smiled sweetly, sugar disguising the venom only minimally. I disowned them several years ago and before that, the subject was not mentioned. Is there any reason I should _care_?   
  
Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes at the mention of disowning, disappearing so quickly that Harry wondered if he had, in fact, seen anything . . . and most definitely far too quickly for him to discern exactly what that something had been. I suppose you were raised as a Muggle, too. Pfeh. He shook his head. Your sort really oughtn't even be invited in the first place. Imagine, not knowing anything about magic or about Hogwarts until you get the letter!  
  
Yes. Imagine that. Michiru's tone distinctly resembled the Sahara Desert. Imagine having parents who lived more than eleven years of their lives as Muggles in every way solely because their child seemed to have no magical ability whatsoever and they didn't want to tempt their child with a peek into a world that could never be theirs. Imagine having parents that cared _that much_ for their child.   
  
Heated now, the words came at an ever-faster tempo. Imagine how astonished and excited and happy those parents are when it turns out that their child does have magical abilities after all, that she has been invited to Hogwarts. Imagine their elation that they no longer must keep secret and keep separate from an entire great aspect of their lives. I feel honored that my parents were willing to sacrifice their own comfort for my sake.  
  
And slower, as she drove her point home. Because, you know . . . even if I had turned out to be completely nonmagical . . . even if I had never heard of Hogwarts . . . because of them, I could have gone on to have a fulfilling and _happy_ life anyway. Oration ended, she leaned back against Haruka, who looked up.   
  
Love is far more important than bloodline. She stated quietly. Without love, blood means less than nothing . . . yet without a blood connection of any sort, love can and will continue to appear and exist, regardless.   
  
Malfoy shrugged off the entire speech as if it had been nothing, less than nothing, even. Your parents, then, were obviously fools. He turned to face Harry. Some wizarding families are obviously better than others, as I am sure you can see. I can help you discern between the right families and nobodies like her family, or the Weasleys. He held out his hand.   
  
Abruptly, Harry stood, drawing himself up to his full height. If the choice is between your family and Michiru's, he said in a deceptively gentle tone, every word truth, I would choose Michiru's family any day. I think I can do without your help. He pointedly ignored the pale hand, still extended.   
  
Malfoy's cheeks reddened slightly as he brought his hand back down, still unshaken, to form a fist as his other hand already had. I would be careful, if I were you, Potter. He finally said calmly, though his eyes flared. Unless you're a bit more polite, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either.   
  
Haruka stood, and with the blonde's tacit support Harry felt braver. And who is going to kill Harry? She asked, her voice sleek with threat. You? I would suggest you not even _try_. Somehow, she managed to imply trying was the best he'd ever manage. Harry wished he were as confident in his skill as Haruka seemed to be.   
  
The color in Malfoy's face was a deeper hue now, and his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. He opened his mouth--  
  
Would you move out of the way please? Who are you anyway? Hermione Granger twitched around Malfoy and his henchmen to face the group sitting in the compartment. She glanced between the three antagonists and Harry and Haruka standing in the middle of the compartment several times, before evidently deciding to shrug the matter off. Whatever you people are doing now, it can wait. I just talked to the conductor and he said we'd be there in a couple of minutes.   
  
Her eyes ran over the entire contingent, and she threw her hands up in the air. And you still aren't dressed, any of you! Honestly! In a swirl of black she departed once again, to leave the tableau subtly changed.   
  
Malfoy's mouth snapped abruptly shut and he nodded stiffly. Later, Potter. He turned and left, his two bodyguards--still silent--following after.   
  
Haruka smirked, and her voice followed Malfoy to the door. Later . . . Draco. Only the additional stiffness to his shoulders gave any indication that he had heard.   
  
* * *  
  
I was still annoyed with Draco Malfoy, but my parting shot had helped to ease that feeling somewhat. After all, using another person's first name may be a sign of closeness . . . but it can also be a sign of contempt. Three guesses as to which of those emotions I felt toward Draco?  
  
Especially about his comments about _good family._ As if it actually _mattered_, whether someone's parents could wield a wand or not. After all, back . . . before . . . I seriously doubt my father was the way he was because he was a Muggle. If anything, with magic he would almost definitely have been worse.  
  
I straightened my forest green sash as I stepped off the train onto a platform hardly visible in the low light. Gazing upward, I saw the moon was full and bright. An omen, I thought, but would it prove to be good or bad?  
  
Haruka, could you please move so the rest of us can get out? Chibiusa's voice--no, I must remember to call her Usagi now. I nodded, broken out of my reverie, although I had no idea how well she could see the gesture, and moved forward further onto the platform.   
  
Soon, she appeared at my side. She asked in Japanese, grin flashing whitely.   
  
Not particularly. I shrugged, replying in the same language. I'd think you'd have far more cause to be nervous. After all, I've had more time to adjust to the idea that magic exists outside the sailor senshi. I flashed my own grin. And . . . pardon me if I sound overly egotistical . . . but I can't think of anything _here_ that can possibly be worse than what I've already been through and . . . survived.   
  
After all, it's just school. Michiru, too, had disembarked and now joined the conversation. A very . . . unusual . . . school, but school nonetheless.   
  
Eh. And whatever is up there . . . well, we'll face it together, right? Usagi said.   
  
I smiled. Right. Together. Usagi had heard the story--the _whole_ story, and as unbiased an account as we could make it--and yet, had decided to remain with us. She had not denied whatever friendship we had once possessed as the others had, but instead had reaffirmed that precious friendship. Until now, as before, it had been only Michiru and myself. Now . . . now there was a third.   
  
That knowledge gave me the courage to face tomorrow and all the tomorrows following, and the undying hope--one of Usagi's greatest traits, much like her mother--that tomorrow would be better than today.   
  
Firs' years! Firs' years over here! The booming voice caused me to start once again--me, the unflappable outer senshi! How the mighty have fallen . . .   
  
Yet somehow, with one hand in Michiru's and the other in Usagi's, as we walked over toward the place from which the voice had come, I did not mind my supposedly fallen' state. After all . . . I had friends, family, a home . . . what more could I ask for and reasonably expect to receive? I already had far more than I had ever dreamed of.   
  
And if it wasn't perfect? Well . . . it was enough.   
  
  
  
7/21/2001  
6/21/2002


	6. Hogwarts

I would like to give a big hug to those wonderful people who reviewed me (as of last time I checked–sorry if I missed anyone!): Iternity, Nebula, JPS, Miaka Hime, Songbreeze, Okirarra, Tegasus, jupiterschild, and ~Moni16~, my friend who listens patiently to me when I rant about how wonderful Sailormoon is, even though she's never seen an episode and doesn't particularly want to, and is willing to read my fanfics despite that.   
  
Seeing as J.K. Rowling has chosen to focus almost solely on Gryffindor, I have little to no information on the rest of the houses. So, I made it all up! If I made something up that actually exists, in a different fashion, in the book, e-mail me, inform me in a review, or chalk it up to the differences (albeit slight, at this point) between canon Harry Potter, and Harry Potter with the senshi added.   
  
That said, have fun!  
  
Notes (7/2): Argh! I'm beginning to think I'm under an expansion curse! My chapters keep getting way bigger! ^_^;; Oh well. I suppose it's better that way.   
  
  
5. Hogwarts  
  
  
  
The first out of my boat, I turned and held my hand out to help whoever was getting off next. Unfortunately, Michiru and I had been separated in the crush of new students, and she had ended up on a different boat.   
  
Thank you. Another hand grasped mine as the quiet voice reached my ears. I turned my eyes away from their search for Michiru toward the girl who currently clasped my hand. Standing, she looked to be just a bit shorter than me, with short dark hair and eyes that seemed dark in the uncertain light. Otherwise, though, her skin seemed almost unnaturally pale.   
  
Are you alright? I asked. You look pale. The black robe only accentuated the paleness of her skin.   
  
She shook her head, smiling. It's nothing. I'm naturally this pale. She bowed her head briefly. Thank you again.   
  
I reached briefly, mentally, finally finding the pleasantry I was looking for. You are quite welcome. It was my pleasure.   
  
She released her hand from mine, gently, and I berated myself for having completely forgotten I still held it. With another quick smile she turned and disappeared into the mass of black-robed children, her dark hair becoming quickly indistinguishable from a multitude of others with hair equally as dark.   
  
Belatedly, I wondered what her name was. I dismissed the matter--after all, sooner or later, I would see her again. I turned and helped the other two out of the boat, both boys and both unknown to me, before heading up the steps to the large door at the top--the entrance, I assumed, to Hogwarts.   
  
Are we there yet? A groggy voice asked. I looked down and grinned. Keldir had taken up residence in a loose enough coil around my neck that I doubted anyone else had even noticed his presence. Of course, they would have had he decided to come out and explore, but he had napped for most of the journey and kept relatively quiet the rest of the time.   
  
Pretty close. We're at the door now.   
  
But you sstill have to go through that . . . Ssorting . . . before you get to go on to bed. And, of coursse, ssupper.   
  
My stomach growled and Keldir . . . chuckled. I would have thought it impossible for a snake to laugh but, somehow, he managed. That's right. Yuk it up.   
  
Do you think you could manage ssome ssupper for me ass well? He asked hopefully. I'm a mite peckissh mysself.  
  
I frowned slightly. I can't see myself coming into contact with any mice in the near future. I could just let you go scrounge something for yourself, though. We could meet up again later. I twitched an eyebrow as I looked down the neck of my robe, knowing his reddish eyes were gazing back upwards. Just try not to get into too much trouble.   
  
The silver snake nodded, a very human-like gesture that I could feel against my skin. I'll try. He sighed. I sidled through and around several people until I reached the wall and pretended to lean against it.   
  
I surveyed the nearby environs through hooded eyes. All right. Looks as clear as it will get.   
  
Roger. Keldir acknowledged, his voice humorous. Ssee you around. Adeptly, he slid down my arm and dropped to the floor, quickly sliding away along the shadow of the corner of the wall. Divested of my companion, I walked toward the doorway, situating myself as close to the front of the group as I could get. The giant man raised his fist and knocked on the door.   
  
Giant . . . I wondered if giants existed. After all, if dragons and unicorns and phoenixes and goblins could . . . why not? And I was willing to bet that the tall, shaggy man was at least part giant. No one who grew that tall or that large could be fully human. Not that I minded. After all, at least originally I wasn't human either, not in the Terran sense of the word. My mother had been pureblooded Uranian and my father Lunarian, from one of the lesser noble families. Not a single drop of Terran blood between them.   
  
Had I been walking instead of standing, I would have paused in mid-step. How did I know that? Or remember, more precisely. I could remember barely anything from the Silver Millennium, and I _knew_ that was not one of the memories I had previously possessed. Perhaps memory returned gradually? But then . . . why had it not done so . . . _before_? Why wait until now?   
  
And even now, that was the only memory that appeared. Nothing else new, no matter that I strove for any scrap, anything to enlighten me further as to what my life had been like before my first death.   
  
Only moments passed after the giant's knock before the door swung open. The woman who had opened the door was dwarfed completely by the giant's enormous bulk, yet she somehow had such great presence that she drew every eye regardless. Her black hair that looked to be going a bit grey around the temples was drawn up in a severe bun and she wore a long robe of such a beautiful emerald green that I immediately began to covet it, even if green is usually more Michiru's color.   
  
Formidable. That was the only word I could think of to describe her. Of course, it didn't hurt that she could almost have been the identical twin of my second-grade math teacher. Idly, I wondered if this woman in fact had an identical twin sister . . . no real way to tell, though. Suzuki-sensei had never told us her maiden name. Still, the similarity was enough to make me wary . . . and _very_ respectful . . . toward this woman.   
  
The firs' years, Professor McGonagall. The giant's voice boomed out again, this time at a more moderated level.   
  
Thank you, Hagrid. The black-haired woman--Professor McGonagall--seemed utterly unconcerned that the giant--Hagrid--stood at least half-again as tall as she. Her voice, too, was almost exactly a match with what I remembered of Suzuki-sensei's, similar to an almost creepy extent. I will take them from here.   
  
Following Professor McGonagall up the remainder of the steps, we entered a large entrance hall lit with torches along the walls. I admired the effect--it made the place look like an ancient castle, immense and foreboding. A door to the right seemed to open onto the dining hall--peeking through I saw lines of tables, filled almost entirely already with black-clad figures. For some reason, though, we didn't go through that door as I expected, but instead into a much smaller room off to the side.   
  
Welcome to Hogwarts. Our guide said, and actually smiled slightly. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. Ah. That explained why we had not gone directly in.   
  
This place is amazing. A voice to my right whispered. I turned my head. Usagi. The entrance hall is so big! Even larger than the one at the Crystal Palace.   
  
I nodded. Now that you mention it, I think it's bigger than the one in the Moon Palace, too. I whispered back. But I think I like the Moon Palace's style better. White and silver and Greco-Roman architecture gets a bit annoying after a while, but I still like it better than this semi-medieval motif Hogwarts seems to ascribe to.   
  
I got poked, and from her start, probably Usagi did too. We turned. Michiru had evidently appeared behind us while we were conversing. Shush, you two. She whispered, annoyed. I'm trying to listen.   
  
Immediately, I shushed, just in time to catch what seemed to be the end of Professor McGonagall's oration. . . . I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.   
  
So . . . did I miss anything important?   
  
Michiru shook her head, smiling, and flicked her fingers at me. She said, her voice fond. No, nothing much. Still, that's no excuse for not listening. What were you two talking about, anyway?   
  
Comparing the architecture of this place to the Crystal Palace, in Usagi's case, and the Moon Palace.   
  
And finding it wanting? Michiru smiled. Silly. This place was built in an entirely different era with a very different brand of magic.  
  
We both think it's larger. Usagi volunteered. Definitely larger than it looks from outside.   
  
It's hard to tell how large this place is from the outside because by the time we were close enough to more accurately judge distance, we were already in that underwater cave and the castle was out of view. Michiru agreed. I certainly wouldn't want to try to besiege this place. If they go that far out of the way to hide the main entrance, I bet all the others are equally as hard to deal with.   
  
You know . . . more than anything else, this place rather reminds me of the Earth Palace. It had the same kind of . . . medieval look to it that this place does. What do you think, Michiru? She looked at me, her gaze unreadable. . . . Michiru?  
  
I don't remember the Earth Palace.   
  
I say, what are all these palaces you people are nattering on about? You some sort of foreign royalty or something? That why you talk all funny? As one, the three of us turned, to face a quite tall young man, dressed in something very ruffly which I am sure was quite stylish . . . a couple hundred years ago. He was very . . . white . . .   
  
I blinked. I could see through this young man to the opposite wall. You're a ghost? It was the only explanation I could think of. Witches, giants, and ghosts . . . There are more things in heaven and earth' indeed!   
  
Quite right, child. He beamed patronizingly down at me, and I suppressed the urge to kick him. It would probably do absolutely no good whatsoever, which would annoy me even more--so better not even to bother. Sir Lyndon Shirley, at your service. He bowed elegantly, that much I'll admit.   
  
Haruka Ten'ou. I returned curtly, eyes narrowed. And most definitely _not_   
  
The ghost opened his mouth, about to reply, when a sharp voice cut suddenly through what he was about to say. Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony's about to start. In his place, I doubt I would have had the temerity to interrupt Professor McGonagall, either.   
  
So we formed a line as she instructed us to, and the whole big group of us trooped out into the hall. Looking around, at the table on the far left I spotted two . . . no, three people that rather resembled Ron. Perhaps those were his brothers--I thought I remembered him mentioning having three still here at Hogwarts. I looked up, and gasped when I saw, not a ceiling, but the starry night sky, complete with the full moon off to the east.   
  
I think both the Moon Palace and the Crystal Palace got beat, hands down. Usagi murmured, her eyes directed upwards much as mine were. I nodded fervent agreement. If . . . when I return home, remind me to talk to Mother about installing something like this.   
  
In our ragged line which quickly came to more closely resemble a formless mob, we ended up arrayed in front of the fifth long table in the room--set at right angles with the other four, I assumed it was the teachers' table. In front of us, the good professor placed a simple four-legged stool, and onto the stool she put a dirty, battered old hat. It had to be magical, I decided immediately. That was the only possible reason for keeping something that . . . well, did I mention it had rips, tears, and even holes in spots? I sincerely doubted it would protect a head from much of anything anymore.   
  
One ghost drifted closer and poked at it. The professor merely shooed it away absently, as if such things happened every day. Well, who knows? Perhaps they did, here. Once a respectful hush had fallen over the crowd, us new first-years, the other students, and teachers alike, a rip in the brim opened, and the hat began to sing.   
  
Sure, it sounded a bit out of tune in parts, and it didn't sound to be all that tuneful a song to begin with. Still, the amazing thing is not how well a bear dances, but that it dances at all'. I forget who said that, but it's certainly true in this case. Even more astonishing, the fact that even if the song wasn't particularly tuneful, it rhymed quite well. And provided useful information--my first idea as to even the basic identity of the four schools--as well. I had an idea, now, as to which of the schools Michiru's parents had tried to refrain from biasing us against.   
  
The professor stepped forward holding a rather long scroll--but then, it would almost have to be that long, in order to contain the names of all . . . forty, fifty, something like that . . . of us. When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. She informed us all, then adjusted her glasses and looked at the top of the list. Abbott, Hannah!   
  
The pink-cheeked, blonde girl sat down and timorously placed the hat on her head. A few moments' pause, and the hat abruptly yelled, More pink-cheeked than ever, the girl took the hat off and tried very hard not to rush over to the table on the far right. I smiled. I remembered being nearly that self-conscious, once.   
  
Aino, Minako! My heart stopped. No. No way. This was not happening. I watched in a daze as she calmly walked up to the stool and sat, placing the battered old hat on her head.   
  
The robes fit her childish figure well, and she wore them with the assurance and self-confidence that gives her the ability to pull off almost any costume, no matter how ridiculous. With the exception of her change in stature, she looked in every other way identical to how she had looked those months ago, roughly six years from now. The intrepid leader of the Inner Senshi, Princess Serenity's personal guardians . . . I wondered where she would end up. The pause this time was slightly longer in duration, but the final answer no less definite.   
  
More names, more decisions, none that particularly stuck in my memory. Chiba, Mamoru! I closed my eyes. Had everyone come? All of them? The worst of the bad memories we had left Japan to avoid facing? And they ended up . . . here. Though two of . . . what, seven? . . . seems hardly conclusive, I was suddenly certain that they were _all_ here. Heh. Fitting, for the man who planned to become a doctor.   
  
Chiba, Usagi! About to sit down at the Ravenclaw table (second from the left), Mamoru spun. He seemed almost about to walk back up the aisle, but the boy at his side (Boot, Terry!?) grabbed a sleeve, and he sat down reluctantly. I turned my attention back to the front. The hat seemed to be taking inordinately long to decide. Well. That house couldn't be _too_ bad if the hat sent Usagi there.   
  
Granger, Hermione! Our acquaintance from the train, who had been so flatteringly appreciative of the spell I had cast. Quite an ego-boost, although I know I didn't perform that spell nearly as . . . neatly as Michiru's mother had. I certainly expended far more energy on it than she had. Oh well, I suppose that sort of thing comes with practice. Hermione walked over and took a seat beside Minako.   
  
Hino, Rei! For once, I would truly have enjoyed _not_ being right. I waited, along with the rest of the shrinking group of first-years, for the black-haired priestess to step up. The hint of a frown crossed Professor McGonagall's face. Hino. Rei!!  
  
She stepped forward a bit, then looked around. Temporarily abandoning Michiru, I slid my way through the throng until I got closer to her position, close enough to hear her mutter in Japanese, What do I do now?   
  
I sighed. I really hated revealing myself to them before absolutely necessary, but whether or not we were still friends . . . well, we weren't really friends anyway . . . whether or not we were still on fairly polite speaking terms, she was still a fellow senshi. Go up to the stool, sit on it, and put the hat on your head. I said quietly. And ask for a translation spell. I shook my head. How you managed to get this far without getting someone to teach you English . . .   
  
She turned to me and glared. I was taught English for several years in school. I can _read_ it just fine, most of the time. Who are you anyway?   
  
Did my hair really make that much of a difference? How many of the others can't speak English either?   
  
She began ticking the others off on her fingers. Setsuna speaks it like her native language, Minako is fluent, Ami and Mamoru can cope as long as people speak at a normal rate . . . but Mako-chan, Usa--Serenity, Hotaru and I . . . She stopped suddenly. Why am I telling you this anyway?   
  
Because I can help. I replied simply, then stepped forward, suddenly uncomfortably aware that I was the focus of every eye in the room.   
  
Are you Miss Hino? The frown was no longer a hint or passing.   
  
I shook my head. No. Just an . . . interested bystander. Rei Hino has not yet come forward because she did not fully understand what, exactly, it was that she was supposed to do.   
  
Wasn't she listening? And who are you?   
  
I bowed my head slightly. Haruka Ten'ou. I heard a gasp . . . no, several, from directly behind me and to either side.   
  
Softly, but easily loud enough for me to hear, Rei hissed, I don't _want_ your help. Traitor. And another part of my heart died. Why did these people matter so much to me? Why did I care?  
  
And I am sure she was trying to listen. I continued, pretending I had not heard. However, you may not have realized this, but she and at least three other students speak little to no English. A situation you may wish to rectify.   
  
At the center of the head table, an old man with long silver hair leaned forward. And what is this language that she speaks?   
  
Right. They hadn't heard her speak, not enough to be able to tell . . . and I've heard that to the untrained ear Japanese sounds practically indistinguishable from Chinese or practically any of the other vaguely Oriental language. I said.   
  
Ah. Well, there is a problem. He said genially, although his eyes remained sharp. Because, you see, in order to perform the translation spell properly, one needs fluent knowledge of both the language you are attempting to teach and the native language of the person you are trying to teach--or at least a language in which they are as fluent as with their native language. And none of us know Japanese.   
  
I shut my eyes and wished I had just let Rei drift randomly. This was beginning to give me a headache. Rei, I know you hate my guts, but just for now believe that I'm trying to help you and get Usagi, Makoto, Hotaru, and yourself out in front of me.   
  
Why should I?   
  
I turned. One does not scream at one's teammates, former or otherwise. One does not act so immaturely (except Usagi and Rei), even if one is technically only eleven years old. It is quite simple. You need to learn English. I know a spell that can teach you English. I am the only one who knows the spell, can perform the spell in this specific case, and has had past experience doing so. I raised my voice slightly. Ask Setsuna if you don't believe me.   
  
Past experience? And who have you performed the spell on? Her garnet eyes were cold.   
  
I tried to force my gaze to grow as cold as hers, but I rather doubt I succeeded. She still has a bit of a headache, as I only did it a few hours ago on the train, but you can go over and talk with her at as great a length as you want, if you want.   
  
Setsuna turned. Regrettably, she has a point. I would perform the spell myself, except I have no idea what it is--and I would have no experience with casting it, while she has already cast it successfully at least once.   
  
Fine. I trust _you_, Setsuna. Rei stepped forward, distaste in her every stiff movement. Having listened to our conversation, conducted as it was all in Japanese, the other three stepped forward without further prompting.   
  
What are you doing? Professor McGonagall demanded.   
  
I smiled sweetly at her as I brought out my wand. Rectifying the problem. I pointed in the girls' direction and, focusing on spreading the effects over all four at once, said those now-familiar words. _Anglicus Linguisticus Veritas!_  
  
_You know . . . _I swayed on my feet, watching with amused detachment as my vision greyed out almost to the point of causing me to faint, before slowly retreating. _. . . I could really learn to hate this spell._  
  
Rei flared. Curse you, Haruka, that hurt!  
  
I couldn't help it. I smirked. It's supposed to. That's what you get when you get an entire language shoved into your head all at once. You do realize you're speaking English now.   
  
That point, she didn't even dignify with a snub. She walked up to the stool and jammed the hat on her head as the other girls--and I--melted back into the line. Was that really necessary? Michiru asked softly. They would have figured it out eventually.  
  
I shrugged uncomfortably. You know me. I get these occasional strange altruistic impulses that I can't help but follow. In the background, the hat shouted Loyal . . . yes. Despite all her arguments, Rei most definitely was that.  
  
I know. She squeezed my hand. And I love you all the more for it. She leaned against me. I love you for yourself and every little part that makes up you. No matter what anyone else thinks.   
  
How strange. I smiled softly, squeezing her hand back. Because, you see . . . I feel exactly the same way. No matter what anyone else thinks.   
  
Kaiou, Michiru! One last, brief hand squeeze and she was gone, gracefully floating up to the stool and placing the hat on her head. Although the hat took but a moment--a far shorter period of time than it had spent on several others before--that moment seemed to stretch out to encompass eternity. For, in a way, the hat was at the same time deciding where I would go--there was no way I would let myself be separated from Michiru so drastically, not after I had already come far too close to losing her too many times before. As with Usagi, that table did not cheer nearly as fervently as any of the other three had, except for a single person. Usagi looked like she was on the verge of jumping up onto her chair in excitement, and was somehow managing to make almost as much noise as the rest of the table combined.   
  
I wondered who had taught her to whistle that shrilly.  
  
Kino, Makoto! Although she was still holding her head, her walk up to the stool was as steady as I'd ever seen it. Like all the other senshi except myself and Usagi (the pink-haired one), she looked exactly like I recalled--except smaller. The strongest of the Inner Senshi and one of the most boy-crazy . . . heh, I wonder how that turned out, now that we had been catapulted back to an age that was not that far removed from the boys = cooties' stage.   
  
Longbottom, Neville! The eminently forgettable boy from the train who had lost his toad. Hm . . . perhaps he had hidden depths.   
  
Malfoy, Draco! That . . . that . . . _gaijin_! I have nothing against foreigners. Really I don't. But in Draco's case, I was willing to make an exception. He was one of the most detestable people I had ever met . . . but he was only human. Human, not a _youma_, or a general, or any sort of great and powerful evil out to take over/destroy the world/galaxy. I suddenly had the urge to smile at him. How nice, to have nothing worse to worry about than detestable little boys like him. Yay. Wonderful. If not for Usagi and Michiru, I would be willing to believe almost anything bad of a house that was willing to accept him.   
  
Meiou, Setsuna! Again, despite being only about half her former height, in all other ways she hadn't changed a bit. What had once been a very beautiful face (second only, in my mind, to Michiru) was now stunningly . . . cute. A cuteness that she seemed blissfully unaware of. (Let me put it this way: _I_ would not want to be the one to tell the Guardian of Time that she looked like a cute little child. If she was in a good mood, she _might_ find it funny. Otherwise, she'd most likely find a very . . . inventive . . . way to retaliate. I'd rather stay on her good side, thank you!) Again, the loyalty factor--she was, perhaps, the most loyal of us all. Perhaps not always loyal to a particular person, but loyal to the timeline, so loyal as to spend millennia doing nothing more than watching over the world. I would have gone crazy from all that forced inactivity . . . and the loneliness. Is it any wonder that she is accounted the most aloof of the senshi, when she knows it is quite possible that she'll still be around long after we're dead?   
  
Mizuno, Ami! Heh. Even I could see that one. When her intelligence was both her greatest strength and her most apparent character trait, where else would she go? The fastest I had seen the hat decide, yet! She went over and took a seat by Mamoru.   
  
Potter, Harry! Immediately, whispers started up all over the hall. Dull roar' doesn't even begin to cover it. The black-haired boy looked unnaturally pale as he went up and put the hat on his head. Nervous? I would be, in his place, especially with having to live up to an appellation like The Boy Who Lived'. The hat actually took a fairly long time with this one, and I could see Harry shifting on the stool as the entire hall waited.   
  
The far left table erupted. Two of the red-haired boys were jumping up and down, yelling (almost shrieking!) We got Potter! We got Potter! Similar cheers were voiced by nearly every other Gryffindor--except poor Minako, who cheered normally but just looked confused as to why everyone was going to such excessive effort. Personally, I hoped the two of them became friends at some point--it would do Harry good to have at least one friend that didn't think he was practically Kami-sama Himself. And, actually, it would do Minako good to realize that fame was not necessarily a _good_ thing.   
  
A couple more names, a couple more faces, none of which I recognized or saw any real reason to remember. Schneider, Lindsey! caught my attention, though, as the pale girl I had helped off the boat stepped up. In this brighter light I took note that her hair was a dark blue-black, since her back was turned I still had no idea what color her eyes were, and she was even more pale than I had thought. Black was most definitely not her color, as it made her look almost like a ghost, temporarily shoved back into human flesh. Well, now I had a name to put to the face. Perhaps, sooner or later, I would also discover a personality to match with the face and name. Make that most likely sooner rather than later.   
  
Ten'ou, Haruka! I gathered up my courage. After all, if everyone else could do it, I could do it too. I walked up to the stool, hoping no one else realized how shaky I felt, and placed it firmly on my own head.   
_  
Hm . . . _The thought, I knew, was not mine. Thus, it had to be . . . the hat? _Hm again. Where should I send you, child?   
  
I really wish,_ I thought plaintively, _that people would stop calling me that. Slytherin, please. _  
  
_Slytherin?_ If the hat had eyebrows, I felt certain it was raising them now. _That had occurred to me . . . it's probably the best choice, actually. Any means' certainly does seem to describe you fairly well, although your ends' are on the whole more selfless than ordinary . . . but . . . you _want_ to go there? Why? You'd do well enough in Gryffindor . . . and you'd probably be happier there. Everyone wants to be a Gryffindor.  
  
Everyone? I think not. _I thought about being in the same house as Minako and barely suppressed a shudder. _That_ strength of animosity, I do not need to deal with on a daily basis. Added to being separated from Michiru . . . _I _might_ be able to be talked into accepting any of the other houses, but _not_ Gryffindor.   
  
Heh. Don't get many people pure-hearted as yourself who actually want to be part of Slytherin . . . and I've _never_ met anyone qualified who didn't want to be in Gryffindor. The quality of Slytherin really has degraded, after all. I think you're right . . . this could be a good thing after all . . . very well. I place you now in _  
  
I took the hat off and set it down deliberately on the stool before walking down to the Slytherin table--between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, second from the right. Halfway down the length of the table, I heard Tomoe, Hotaru! I sat in an empty seat between Michiru and Usagi, across from Lindsey, and a diagonal away from Draco Malfoy, who _would_ persist in glaring at me.   
  
Good evening, all. Now that my Sorting was over with, the release from tension had left me feeling uncommonly at ease with the world. Even with the small slice of the world known as Draco Malfoy.  
  
What was all that going on when Rei's name was called? Usagi leaned in. I only caught part of it.   
  
I examined my fingernails. Rei did not know English. Neither, as it turned out, did Makoto, Hotaru, or Usagi.   
  
Oh dear. The pink-haired girl's eyes danced. And you took it upon yourself to . . . rectify the situation?   
  
In the background, the hat chanted and Professor McGonagall called the next name. Tsukino, Serenity!  
  
Something like that. I replied demurely, fighting to hide my own smile. I knew it was not nice of me to enjoy the other four girls' pain and I didn't, not really, but . . . I don't know. Perhaps its because I finally got out of an encounter with Usa--Serenity with the firm knowledge that, for once, I was in the right. And it felt so good!  
  
Usagi winced sympathetically. That's got to smart. She raised her head. How many of us are here? Everyone?   
  
Suddenly, I was even happier that I had turned down the hat's offer to put me in Gryffindor.   
  
Michiru assured her glumly. Up to and including Mamoru.   
  
I leaned back to look at the ceiling and the full moon rising slowly overhead. Now the only ones missing are the Starlights. I murmured sardonically.   
  
Michiru elbowed me. _That_ particular headache, we don't need.   
  
And Puu? Her eyes were bright. She's here too?  
  
Hufflepuff. Weren't you watching?   
  
No, not really. This is great! I need to talk to her. Her hand went to her neck and a half-hidden chain briefly.   
  
That may be harder than it seems. After all, she's not too fond of us just now--and that probably goes for anyone who chooses to associate with us.   
  
Across from me, Lindsey looked down at folded hands. And the only person who likes a Slytherin, she murmured, is another Slytherin.  
  
Weasley, Ron! One of very few people left, the red-haired boy who sat across from us on the train mounted the podium.   
  
This is Setsuna we're talking about. Usagi insisted. She'll talk to me, I know it!   
  
I smiled slightly at my friend's vehemence. For your sake, I said softly, I hope you're right.  
  
Ron was excitedly welcomed to the Gryffindor table by the red-haired twins that had earlier shrieked so loudly when Harry became one. Brothers? They certainly looked enough alike from this distance.   
  
Soon, the Sorting ended, with Zabini, Blaise! () As he took his seat at an empty space further up our table, the Headmaster--for that was who I assumed the genial man with long silver hair was--stood and focused his smile upon us all.   
  
He made some comments, nonsense words that, unsurprisingly, made no sense. Before we eat, he finished, I shall take note that a larger number of our newest young students than usual come from outside the borders of bonny England. With a spirit of appreciation towards diversity, I extend to these students a hearty English welcome to our country. Let the feast begin!   
  
Immediately, food in large quantities appeared before us. Even more surprisingly, some of the portions in front of us were traditional Japanese foods. Lindsey speared a large sausage from a bowl that had appeared almost directly in front of her and smiled. Sweet of him. And of whoever made these foods. Freed of the sausage, her fork came up to point towards us. You're not English, I presume. Where are you from?   
  
I helped myself to some sushi and, on a whim, a piece of steak and a pork chop. Might as well make the most of this opportunity to observe another culture, after all. Japan. Specifically the Juuban ward of Tokyo. And you? She had a slight accent, very slight, but that and her reaction to the headmaster's--Dumbledore's--speech had convinced me that she was most likely not English.   
  
She took another bite from the sausage. I'm from Brey. It's . . . I suppose you could sort of call it a suburb of Koblenz. At our blank looks, she shook her head and laughed a little. Sorry. You wouldn't exactly know where Koblenz is, either, would you? It's in Rheinland-Pfalz, pretty close to the western edge of Germany.   
  
I wrinkled my nose as I smelled the most _awful_ . . . my head turned to the right, and sure enough, there it was. Nattou. And Usagi was shoveling a spoonful of the gooey substance onto her plate. Usagi . . . don't tell me you _like_ that stuff!   
  
She shrugged and grinned at me. It's an acquired taste. One I acquired quite early, as it's one of the few things my mom cooks well.   
  
It is impossible to cook nattou well. It's just harder to tell that you've done a bad job.   
  
Michiru tugged my ponytail gently. Haruka . . . be nice. Usagi can like whatever foods she wants. You don't have to necessarily like everything she does, nor does she have to like everything you do. If she's anything like her mother, after all . . . Amused glance. . . . I doubt she likes carrots very much.   
  
Usagi made a face. What I don't understand is why everyone seems to think I should automatically like them and that it's _cute_ to give them to me as a gift. The volume of her voice lowered, and she muttered, Just because my name means rabbit' . . . grr . . .  
  
Lindsey giggled. I admit, knowing that, it would be hard to resist. But I can see how the joke would get old.   
  
She became the focus of deadly serious red-brown eyes. Very quickly. I assure you. Several hundred years ago. Literally. Dessert appeared and that quickly, Usagi was diverted. Strawberry pudding! My favorite! She dug into a large bowl of pudding the exact same shade of pink as her hair.   
  
By the time the food disappeared, we had all eaten our fill and more. I, personally, felt about five miles wide . . . but I knew I wouldn't for too long. One of the benefits to being a senshi is that we all have insanely active metabolisms from spending so much energy on being a senshi. Sometimes, I think it's the only reason Serenity is still as skinny as the rest of us. Still, from the amount I ate at that first meal, I suppose I shouldn't make fun of Serenity for her eating habits.   
  
After all the leftovers were cleared away (I wondered where they went), the headmaster stood again. As if strings had been pulled closing every mouth, every student in the hall immediately fell silent. The silver-haired man cleared his throat. Now that we have all been adequately fed, I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.   
  
I paid close attention--it's always a good idea to know the rules, if only so that you break them out of intent instead of from ignorance. (Of course, _claiming_ ignorance works if you get caught . . . sometimes. It's better to not get caught.) So, the forest is forbidden to all students. I wondered why--a resident bloodthirsty werewolf? Probably something similarly bizarre.   
  
No magic in the corridors between classes. Hm . . . how about in the corridors after classes? Or on the roof, or in the dorms? Or right here, even? Although here was perhaps not that bright an idea, with practically all the teachers in the school nearby. Quidditch trials . . . a pity, but that didn't apply to me. No first-years on the Quidditch teams--_especially_ if there were only seven players taken from the entire House of . . . what, seventy, eighty people?   
  
Third floor corridor on the right side. I fixed that location in my memory as someplace to avoid. Despite his way of acting almost senile, Dumbledore had made an impression on me as someone to respect. If he didn't want us going by there, then I was pretty sure I didn't want to be anywhere near there. Still . . . whatever was there must be interesting . . . I could almost feel my curiosity bump itching. That seemed to be the last of his announcements.   
  
And now let us sing the school song! He cried. School song? I wondered how they would teach it to us, the first-years who (for the most part) had no idea there even was a school songs? Then I noticed that, as he flicked his wand upwards, golden streamers flew from it, streamers than formed themselves into cursive words. Everyone pick their favorite tune and off we go!  
  
Usagi launched herself instantly into a spirited rendition of the floating words to the tune of an old American pop song, Yellow Polka-dot Bikini. I'm not sure I want to know where she learned that song, much less why she chose it. Draco sang to the tune of the Imperial March, what I've always thought of as Darth Vader's theme, from the Star Wars trilogy. Perhaps in some perverse tribute to her country of origin, Lindsey began singing the Queen of the Night aria--the high one, and she was singing it in the original key!--from The Magic Flute.   
  
Michiru and I? Well, at first we just stood gaping at the pure musical cacophony. Then we heard, clearly above the rest, the strains of a _very_ slow funeral march. We met eyes and grinned identical, mischievous grins. Two (or, in this case, four) could play at the slow game. In perfect accord, we launched ourselves into one of the longest of our piano/violin duets. As people finished singing, they sat down, until we and our musical rivals' were the only ones left. Our rivals' ended up being that redheaded pair over in Gryffindor. I wondered how many years before this they had tried the same trick . . . somehow, before _us_, I had no doubt they had succeeded.   
  
But, unfortunately, we had at least three to four years of experience on them, and more than two of those years had been spent in a professional musical career of Michiru's (and occasionally mine, when she needed me to play accompaniment) own. So, going blue in the face and looking like they were considering just flat making up new verses, the two finally conceded. At my side, hidden by the table, Michiru tapped my hand once--first potential ending, coming up fairly soon anyway.   
  
Dumbledore conducted our last lines, although he seemed fairly surprised as to _who_ he ended up conducting. Then, in perfect tandem as we had done in so many performances before, I swept a deep bow at the same time Michiru attempted to curtsey--harder than it sounds, when you're wearing a straight robe. Shocked silence prevailed until (a pleasant surprise!) the two redheads began the applause. No hard feelings, then. Good--I appreciated their sense of humor (being somewhat like my own . . .).   
  
After that, he dismissed us and we were all careful to crowd close to our prefect--I wouldn't want to try to find the Slytherin dorms on my own, after all. I kept my eyes peeled for Keldir but, evidently, he was not yet done searching out his own supper. Near the exit, though, we were accosted by the two redheads--and up close, it was painfully obvious they were twins. Good singing. One congratulated us. No one's managed to out-sing us since we first started coming here. I restrained myself from smirking.   
  
What was that piece you were singing? The other interrupted.   
  
A duet for the violin and piano that I composed. Michiru replied. True. I helped a little, but the genius and nearly all of the hard work came from Michiru.   
  
The first shook his head. I hope you aren't into the business of practical jokes, too, or we'd be _out_ of business. I'm Fred Weasley, and this is my brother George.  
  
Don't listen to him. I'm Fred, he's George. The other stated. Before I even started, I gave up on trying to tell which was which. Especially when all I knew was that they had two names between them, Fred and George. As to which name belonged to which twin . . . as I said, I gave up.   
  
I'm Haruka Ten'ou, and this is Michiru Kaiou. I returned. You must be Ron's brothers, right? Then I noticed our prefect was almost out of sight. Oops! Gotta run! Talk to you later, 'k? And run we did.   
  
* * *  
  
Our trunks, I was glad to see, had already been brought up to our rooms. Or rather, room, singular. All six Slytherin first-year girls were put in one room, with six *large* four-poster beds with lovely dark emerald green hangings.   
  
Six? Yes, there was Michiru, Chibiusa, and I, a rather chubby and mean-looking girl named Millicent Bulstrode (think female version of Crabbe or Goyle), a rather hard-faced girl named Pansy Parkinson (talk about names that don't fit a person's personality), and, of course, the pale, blue-black-haired girl, Lindsey.   
  
So the six of us unpacked our trunks, got our pajamas on, and fell into our respective beds. Michiru and I slept in the same bed, as always. I figured if anyone took exception to it, that was their problem. Certainly not mine.  
  
Before we went to sleep, we locked eyes once more, and I could see the same thoughts in her eyes as were in mine, no doubt. Today had been a very interesting start to what promised to be an interesting, eventful, and all around fun seven years. The only thing I didn't like about Hogwarts so far, after all, was Draco Malfoy.   
  
As I rolled over to go to sleep, conscious of and comforted by Michiru's warm presence beside me, I thought of the twin Weasley brothers and their penchant for practical jokes--perhaps I'd lend them Keldir sometime, if he was amenable. It would be interesting to see what sort of things the self-proclaimed practical jokers could do with a cooperative snake.   
  
I thought of Chibiusa and how different she seemed from the last time I saw her, only months ago to me, yet years to her. She had grown up quite a bit. Still, I wondered at her choice of songs. Yellow Polka-dot Bikini?! When? How? And perhaps most puzzling, why?   
  
I thought of provoking Draco more, and a silent smile lit my face. He was so _easy_ to provoke, after all. And I thought of Michiru, as I always do, and slept.   
  
  
  
  
End Notes: Please don't hurt me for putting Haruka and Michiru in Slytherin! *dodges random flaming brick* I'm trying to better understand people who are pro-Malfoy and Snape, and I couldn't do that nearly as well if my two absolute favorite characters were in Gryffindor, their hereditary enemy.   
  
Besides . . . *grin!* It's so much more fun this way!  
  
  
  
6/10/2001  
7/2/2002


	7. Day One

And here's chapter 6! Again, big hugs of thanks to all you lovely people who reviewed my story, including Lyssandra, who I did not mention last time (sorry!), and Quill, who sent me a very lovely little e-mail. *big smile*  
  
Once again, I'm sure you're aware by now that I don't own Harry Potter or Sailormoon. Sorry! So why don't you just sit back and enjoy my story, and forget about the legalities?  
  
Notes (7/6): Once again, in the rewrite the length expanded beyond my control. Some interesting new changes, same basic storyline. Sort of.  
  
  
  
6. Day One  
  
  
  
My first day at Hogwarts, I woke up with a start as icy water poured over me. Beside me, also hit by the deluge, Michiru shrieked once. This shriek seemed to cause a chain reaction in which all the other girls in the room woke up, Usagi from a dream of Crystal Tokyo. I won't let you take them, Wiseman!   
  
Lindsey sat bolt upright, silent, wide scared eyes flashing around the room, and Millicent and Pansy started shrieking even louder than Michiru had--louder and longer. As I looked around, wiping wet bangs back out of my eyes, I noticed the culprit--a bucket that shifted from side to side, almost nervously, and flinched at every new shriek.   
  
Somehow, I had no doubt as to who was behind this . . . stunt. Still, since the bucket hadn't left yet, there might be a way to turn this to my advantage. I rolled out of bed, shaking excess moisture out of my hair, and walked over to kneel next to the bucket. I said softly, trying not to frighten it any more. You didn't like having to endure all this noise, did you? The bucket turned back and forth. No. Well, how would you like to play a little joke on the one that put you in such a spot?   
  
The bucket stood entirely still for a moment and I began to fear it wouldn't work. Then, slowly, it began to bounce. Yes. Well . . . here's what you do . . . I leaned even closer and began to whisper to it. As my plan expanded, the bucket began jiggling even more in excitement.   
  
And don't forget. I finished. _Warm_ water. It bounced up and down one last time before dashing down the hall and down the stairs, off toward the boys' dorm. As it dashed away, it seemed almost as if it was giggling. And myself? I leaned back against my bed and laughed.   
  
* * *  
  
Breakfast was served in the Great Hall, much as supper had been. In a good mood, I sampled a little bit of everything the English ate for breakfast instead of going for the tried and true Japanese foods that also appeared. During breakfast, the mail arrived (by owl of course). Although I had expected that the mail would probably arrive in a large batch at some point, I hadn't expected as large a number of owls as actually appeared.   
  
At practically the same time, suddenly hundreds of owls were swooping down toward the tables, carrying packages in their claws and in their beaks. I chose to concentrate on the spectacle the owls provided instead of looking around at our table for a reason--if I didn't see Draco, with his new hot pink and green striped hair, then I wouldn't have to try to suppress my laughter.   
  
But then again, why bother? I was sure he already knew who had done it to him. I brought my gaze back down and, sure enough, there he was glaring at me. My carefully bland expression yielded to a grin, which soon became a smirk, then full-blown laughter. I like that color on you. I chortled. It brings out the color of your eyes. And it was true, the silver of his eyes seemed much more pronounced--but then, that might just be because he was so angry.   
  
Ten'ou . . . He growled, drawing out each syllable. I know you did it. I may not know how, but I know you did it. And you will pay!   
  
I sniffed and flicked an ice cube his way. Tit for tat, my friend. You get back at me, fine, I have no problem with that. Just understand that I will get back at you, and I'm better than you will ever be.   
  
* * *  
  
My first class at Hogwarts. As I walked into the room, I still couldn't help but snicker every time I glanced Draco's way. He just looked so _cute_ in pink and green . . . I wondered if there was a way to make it permanent.   
  
Anyway. The first class--History of Magic, a required class for all first-years. Well, required for all students, but this level of the class was only for first-years. Taught by Professor Binns who, to my surprise, turned out to be a ghost. School rumor has it that he got up one morning to teach and left his body behind, that he never even noticed the transition. I could believe that he had been dedicated enough to his job that he continued to teach even after death . . . but I rather doubted that he hadn't noticed the change.   
  
He may have droned on and on about history so ancient that no one really cared--especially not anyone in our class--but I think he noticed more than he let on. I meant to pay attention--history actually is one of the subjects that I truly do enjoy--but his voice was so monotonous, I just couldn't. It reminded me of a Japanese teacher I had had once in . . . eighth or ninth grade, I think it was . . . except worse, because at least in that case, I didn't feel the need to pay attention.   
  
But here . . . I had never heard of Uric the Oddball or Cedric the Constipated. How Emeric the Evil had tried to take over the world but failed. Legends of a magical kingdom that ruled the stars from its beautiful capital on the Moon. When that last one came up, I jerked out of the self-induced note-taking trance that I had fallen into, my pen (a quill pen, even!) inscribing a jagged line across the paper.   
  
The wizarding world actually recalled the time of the Silver Millennium? Although only in legends, that was still far more than the ordinary, Muggle' world remembered. Suddenly, all of my previous lethargy disappeared, and I listened closely to his descriptions of a peace-loving empire ruled by the beneficent Queen Serenity. How, on the eve of her daughter's coming-of-age ball, the empire had been destroyed, its adherents eliminated or exiled to Earth, all planets but this blue-green orb razed to the ground, Queen Serenity's special crystal shattered along with the magic it possessed, all by the malevolence of Queen Beryl, leader of an insignificant country on Earth.   
  
No mention was made of Metallia, of course. The exact events of the fall of the Moon Palace--the way the Four Generals had been turned against the people and the empire they had once loved, the tragic deaths of the Inner Senshi, the princess and prince--were still shrouded in mystery. Then again, that's not so very surprising, considering that I sincerely doubt Beryl's invasion forces left any witnesses.   
  
Tears trickled silently down my cheeks and I made no attempt to stem their flow. I mourned the fall of an empire the likes of which the world has not seen since, the death of a queen I had admired greatly. Since my reawakening as Sailor Uranus, I had been too busy and preoccupied to properly mourn all we had lost . . . but now, now in a class of eleven people, most of whom would never understand . . . I remembered how regally beautiful Queen Serenity had been, how just and fair, everything a queen should be and more, and how happy I had been then.   
  
What's wrong, Ten'ou? For a moment, those words almost fooled me into believing that the pink and green-haired boy felt some . . . compassion. Not for long, though. Crying over some long-dead queen? How pathetic. She was probably really awful, too.   
  
I snapped. Turning, I picked up the boy with one hand and held him, his suddenly wide and frightened eyes only inches from mine. You can make fun of me. You can deride my parentage as long and as widely and as obscenely as you want. But _no one_ insults the people I care about. I hissed. Queen Serenity was loving and fair and wise, everything you are not. She was worth ten of you or more, so don't you _dare_ think you can get away with putting her down while I'm around.  
  
But she's _dead_. Why do you care? He choked out. Through the red haze covering my vision, I absently noted that he was beginning to grow purple.   
  
I dropped him to the floor. I care because she was the greatest ruler this system has ever known, and possessed probably the largest heart. She died tragically, defending her people with everything she had, and in the end she sacrificed herself, that the rest of us might live our lives in peace. When you can say as much of yourself, then and only then can you pass judgment on her actions.   
  
I turned and stalked those steps back to my seat, disgusted with him and disgusted with myself for allowing myself to react to him. Draco was--or should have been--nothing to me. Why should it matter to me that he made such comments about Queen Serenity? I should have been able to just let that sort of thing slide. But . . . I couldn't let that sort of slander stand. Not about anyone I knew otherwise about, and most especially not about my former queen.   
  
I was surprised to notice that Professor Binns had actually stopped lecturing while I . . . confronted . . . Draco. Just went to show that he wasn't as completely oblivious as he seemed. As soon as I took my seat (and, presumably, Draco stumbled back into his), though, he immediately took up where he left off.   
  
Before I allowed myself to surrender to semi-oblivion, though, I noticed the ghost was throwing several odd looks my way. Belatedly, I realized that going on about Queen Serenity like I actually knew her (even though I had) might not have been the brightest of ideas. As soon as class ended I was out of there like a shot--not so much because I really wanted to leave, but because I didn't want to give him a chance to ask any questions I felt honor-bound to not answer.   
  
* * *  
  
Transfiguration, our second class of the day, was more of the sort of class I had expected at a school of magic--the art of changing one thing into another (without the use of Serenity's Disguise Pen). Knowing that, I had expected to enjoy it. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall seemed to have something against us. She's scrupulously fair, I'll admit that much, but even if she treated us no differently from any other class, her unspoken attitude still made the atmosphere of the class uncomfortable.   
  
Later, I learned why she took us in such a dislike--she's the head of Gryffindor and Gryffindor, even more than the rest of the school, cultivates an intense hatred for all things Slytherin, much as Slytherin does towards all things Gryffindor. From what explanations I had gathered from my fellow Slytherin (biased and littered with insults to Gryffindor as they were), the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry had been going on practically since the school was founded and seemed to have only gained in strength since then.   
  
If I hadn't thought the entire deal was nonsense, I would have admired her simply for her determination to treat us as fairly as anyone else. As it was, I just wished she'd forget about all this rivalry nonsense. But then, perhaps I was looking at it differently than normal--after all, I counted Harry, Ron, Hermione, and even perhaps Neville as pleasant acquaintances if not friends, and I detested Draco Malfoy . . . yet Draco was a part of my house and the other four were all nasty, evil Gryffindors. Tends to give a person a different outlook on the whole rivalry setup.   
  
Even at the beginning of class, it was obvious her similarities to Suzuki-sensei went deeper than mere looks. This, as with my second-grade teacher, was most definitely not a woman to mess with. She expressed perfect willingness to dismiss any of us permanently from her class if we yielded to the urge to mess around. While I think she was probably a bit more enthusiastic about the notion of dismissing us, I felt sure that warning applied to all houses equally.   
  
The first thing we did in this class, as in History of Magic, was to take quite a few notes. These notes, however, seemed to fulfill more of a practical purpose than those in our morning class, being as they were definitions of Transfiguration terms, tips as to how to accomplish our tasks successfully, and long lists of things _not_, under any circumstances, to do. Unlike in History, though, the notes came to an end before class did and we were set our first assignment--to turn a match into a needle.   
  
Not surprisingly, it's harder than it sounds. Michiru already had her copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration out and we both had our individual sets of notes stacked neatly on opposite sides of the table--with room for three to four students--that we had managed to claim as our own. Having been in public school for most of my previous life (no clue about this one--probably the same), being part of a class of only eleven was different and a little unnerving. But at least it ensured that there was more than enough room for everyone, in a room that looked like it could sit at least thirty comfortably.   
  
A scraping sound brought my attention forwards; Usagi stood in front of our table, chair in hand. Hi. Mind if I join? I nodded, gave a brief welcoming smile, and went back to sifting through my notes. She sat down and brought out her own notes, flipping through them as Michiru and I were.   
  
The most useful tips seem to be near the end, right before the warnings. All three of us looked up toward the quiet voice. Lindsey stood there, notes and book in hand, blushing. Um . . . would you mind if I join you? I'm not quite sure how to begin.   
  
The three of us exchanged brief looks, arriving quickly to the conclusion that none of us minded. Sure. We can all just muddle through together. Usagi replied. Pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable, and let's see what we can figure out.   
  
I examined the match. You'd think it wouldn't be so hard to effect such a change. Needles and matches are more or less the same size and shape, after all--I think the main problem is with transmuting the wood to silver, and molding it so that the needle has an eye.   
  
I wonder where the excess mass goes? Or where it comes from, if you're changing something into something larger? Usagi asked. Well, I suppose we don't really have to deal with that yet, since if we gain or lose any mass with this transformation, it won't be much.   
  
Transfiguration takes a lot of concentration. The wand is a helpful aid; it streamlines the purpose somewhat, but only if you make the correct motions. If you have no idea what you're doing with the wand, it can actually do more harm than help. The main aspect is the use of the will, to convince the object that it really is something else. Matches, it seemed, needed a lot of convincing.   
  
My vision had focused in on the match until I saw nothing else. Was it growing pointed on one end? Perhaps a bit more silver than it had been? I didn't know whether I was actually making progress, or just imagining things.   
  
An explosion of breath to my left disrupted my concentration and I turned my head to glare at Lindsey. She put a hand to her mouth. Oh. Sorry! But look, don't you think it looks pointed now?  
  
I picked up her needle and examined it more closely. Hm . . . you're right. The point looks just about the way a real needle's does. That's good! I handed it back to her. I wish I could say as much about mine.   
  
Let me see. She snatched my match and subjected it to an inspection quite similar to the one I had just given hers. What are you talking about? This is great! It's a lot more silver than mine, even if the point is kind of blunt, and the match head is completely gone! How did you manage that?   
  
I looked. I hadn't realized I had done that. Perhaps I am getting the hang of this after all.   
  
Please . . . Michiru didn't even look up from where she bent over her own match.   
  
. . . shut up. We're trying to concentrate. Usagi finished, absently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.   
  
Lindsey chimed in less than a second after me, and we shared equally abashed looks.   
  
My resolve strengthened now that I knew I really was making a difference, I went back to work with a vengeance. Then, suddenly, Professor McGonagall was walking around picking up match/needles, assigning us a short essay due next class (the following Tuesday), and dismissing us. I looked at the clock in disbelief, sure that the hours couldn't have passed that quickly.   
  
I suppose we should probably get to work on our homework. Usagi sighed. So we don't have to rush later.   
  
Later' being defined as Monday night? Lindsey popped up behind us, a grin accompanying her remark. That sounds like a really good idea to me. Any idea where to go? She paused. And can I come along?   
  
Sweet. That would be nice. Usagi seemed to be our main spokesman where Lindsey was concerned. As to where . . . library? We'll probably have to go by there to get resources anyway.   
  
Michiru and I in chorus. Too many other people are likely to have that idea. I added. _Certain people in particular . . ._  
  
I don't know about you, but I'm not all that excited at the prospect of returning to the Slytherin common room. Michiru said dryly. Why don't we see if any of these stairs exit to the roof? That would give us plenty of room to spread out, and less chance of an interruption.   
  
I extended mental feelers upward. There isn't too much of a breeze up there, so we probably won't have to worry about our books blowing away. I noted. I like that idea.   
  
Lindsey seemed to shrink in on herself briefly. I . . . all right. You're right, it's better than the common room. Just . . . can we go back by our tower first? I need to get a hat.   
  
With skin that pale, you must get really bad sunburns. Usagi said sympathetically. If it's better, we can find someplace inside. Maybe we'll stumble on an empty room somewhere.   
  
She shook her head. I can't hide inside my whole life. I'll have to get used to the sun eventually. The roof it is--assuming we can find a staircase to get us there.   
  
At the end of this corridor, there were at least ten or twelve staircases, only one of which I had any idea where it led--the one we had come up. I can see why that might be a problem . . .  
  
* * *  
  
Although it took a great deal of trial and error (and three separate attempts that led us to the right-hand side of the third floor corridor, somehow), we finally did find that staircase to the roof. As I had sensed, there was nothing more than a light breeze blowing--seemed like my range was growing greater, as we ended up being higher up than I thought. I intercepted a curious look from Lindsey but ignored it, and thankfully she didn't press. I didn't feel like trying to explain my growing abilities to a non-senshi . . . or to another senshi, for that matter.   
  
So we sat and worked and chatted and took breaks and worked and talked some more. All in all it was a very friendly atmosphere, although it was rather hard to see Lindsey's expression under the broad-brimmed straw hat she wore. Work did get done, if not as much as we had expected. But . . . hey, we had an entire week. We could afford to slack off at least a little.   
  
Did the three of you grow up together? Lindsey asked at one point. You seem to know each other so well, like you've been friends forever.   
  
It does seem like we've known each other forever. Usagi agreed, But really, it's only been . . . what, two years?   
  
I tallied dates mentally. Closer to three for Michiru and myself. I finally said. But then, we met each other before we ever met any of you. From what I've heard, we probably met a little after you dropped into the others' lives.   
  
And then there were the fights . . . and it seemed like you had finally mended things with the others. Then you disappeared for a while . . . and then, suddenly, you were back with Hotaru, and Puu . . . I thought she had died. She made a face. And then I had to leave . . . of the time since we've met, we really haven't known each other for all that much of it, have we?   
  
One or the other of us always seems to be disappearing. Michiru agreed amiably. Speaking of Setsuna, have you had a chance to talk with her yet?   
  
The pink-haired girl made a face. Well, let's see. I slept, got up, ate, went to class, ate, went to class, spent way too long trying to figure out the stupid stairs in this place, and then came up here. I haven't had any _time_ to find her. She picked up a piece of tile and chucked it over the edge. I wish I knew why she sent me here in the first place--although I bet it's because of what has happened since Galaxia. Michiru and I winced at the name. You are all different now, and who knows what sort of effect that has had. At this rate, I may never return home!   
  
You'll find a way home. Michiru said. And until then . . . you can always find a home with us. She winked. Just . . . don't try to make my mother think you're my long lost cousin.  
  
Usagi stuck her tongue out and grinned. Okay. I promise. And . . . thanks. It means a lot to me.   
  
That conversation died, and for a time we all worked in silence. I glanced at my nearly blank piece of parchment. The only thing written there was the prompt for my History of Magic essay: Did the Silver Millennium really exist? Defend your assertion. I growled. I knew it existed, but all the evidence seemed to point to it being nothing more than a myth.   
  
I could just imagine. The Silver Millennium truly did exist. I know because I was a prominent member of Queen Serenity's court in my past life, although I didn't visit court very often. I had a more important job, you see--not only did I have to guard the outer solar system from outside invaders, but I also had my duties as Princess and Heir Apparent to the throne of Uranus.   
  
I slammed my book shut and lay back, resting my head on bent arms. Not only was it completely breaking my cover, it was also completely ridiculous. In this Western world, how many people would I meet that even believed in reincarnation? Especially since I claimed to remember parts of my past life.   
  
The Moon Kingdom offends you? Lindsey's voice, with a lilt of humor. I would have rather liked to have lived there, myself.   
  
You actually believe it existed? I came up on one elbow to regard the other girl with an expression akin to disbelief. When nearly all the evidence points the other way?   
  
Yes. Call me silly and romantic . . . but I truly believe, here, she put a hand to her heart, that it once existed. Her eyes narrowed, a calculating expression appearing. And, despite your protestation just now, you obviously believe so, too. There's no other reason why you would have defended Queen Serenity so vehemently in front of the entire class. She smiled. You know, I think you're the reason we got this essay. Until you blew up, I think he was going to assign us something on Uric the Oddball.   
  
I winced. Although I had known it was futile, I had rather hoped that the incident in History of Magic would just blow over. I really shouldn't have lost my temper like that, especially since it's not like anything that boy said could hurt her now. It was very unwise, but . . . oh, who am I kidding? I don't regret it at all and I'd do it again in a minute if given the chance.   
  
She looked back down at her copy of A History of Magic, then turned to her parchment that was nearly as blank as my own. Her pen poised over the paper for a long moment, she finally put it down in the textbook and closed it with a definitive snap. I do _not_ feel like doing this right now. She sighed. I suppose I had better go ahead and write up the bad news. If I don't send a letter off to my parents soon, they'll come up here themselves to find me.   
  
What bad news? Chibiusa asked.   
  
Lindsey looked up with a start. That's right. I keep on forgetting that the three of you weren't raised as witches, spoon-fed Hogwarts lore practically since birth. The bad news is that I was Sorted into Slytherin, the one House that no one in their right mind wants to be a part of.   
  
What's so bad about it? I asked. That's the part that I never quite caught. Michiru's parents both refused to tell us anything about any of the Houses.   
  
It has a horrible reputation. Evidently Salazar Slytherin, the man who created this House and who the House is named after, broke with the other three over who should be accepted to Hogwarts--he wanted to only accept students that came from pureblooded background.   
  
Too bad he's not around now. I studied my fingernails. I wouldn't mind . . . persuading him otherwise.   
  
Lindsey giggled, but quickly returned to sobriety as she continued her explanation. So from the beginning the other three have always been somewhat wary of Slytherin. In addition, it tends to attract ambitious, ruthless types--not your typical sweet young child. Then to top it all off, nearly every truly Dark wizard--and _all_ the ones who were actually in charge--that went gone to school at Hogwarts has come from Slytherin. Up to and including You-Know-Who.   
  
She looked down. And it's doubly annoying because my father _really_ wanted me to go to Durmstrang instead--it's in Belgium, much closer--and since I am pureblooded . . . more or less . . . I would have had no problem getting in. My mother was so sure, though, that I'd get into one of the _good_ houses--all except Slytherin, in other words--that she suggested I come here instead.   
  
You know, I think that's unfair. I said. That Slytherin is maligned so badly, I mean. Sure, the Sorting Hat said something about how the quality of Slytherin students had really deteriorated recently, but this is absurd. You know why so many Dark wizards come from Slytherin? Because those in Hufflepuff are so loyal to their causes that they aren't willing to strike out on their own. I thought of Setsuna, drunk, sobbing in her room because of the terrible burden she had taken up and sworn never to put down.   
  
Because Ravenclaws are so wrapped up in learning that they often neglect to take any notice of the real world. I thought of Ami, always wrapped in some book or another, finding solutions only through deep and careful thought when sometimes, the best thing to do is to act.   
  
And because Gryffindors are so brave and honorable and good that they couldn't possibly conceive of doing such a thing. I thought of Serenity, who always insisted a solution could be found that needed no sacrifices (except, perhaps, her own), and who time after time managed to find that solution only because of the sheer immensity of the power she held.   
  
In that one, brief moment, I hated them all. We are Slytherin. We are Slytherin because we have the drive, the ability, and the willingness to do what needs to be done, regardless of the price. Or we can choose to regard the price, and choose which price is too high for us to be willing to pay. We are the only ones capable of taking over the world or destroying it because we have a different set of priorities. That is why the Dark wizards come from Slytherin. Because they have a spark, a possibility, a thirst that is not present in the other Houses.   
  
Lindsey laughed a little, clearly nervous. You sound almost as if you admire them or want to be one of them.   
  
I laughed a bittersweet laugh and sat back down. Me, take over the world? Hardly. Not only would it be far too much work, but then I'd have to go to the bother of either ruling or destroying it. I've already had my taste of dark power . . . and that was more than enough. Sure, if I gave myself over to evil, I could become more powerful than I could ever dream of, otherwise . . . but for what? I already have all I want. I reached out my hand and found Michiru's.   
  
I smiled at her and she smiled back. I could see she didn't quite understand what had prompted my outburst of sudden House pride, but I didn't mind. She was here and I was here and we were together and, in the end, that's all that really matters.   
  
* * *  
  
I've never heard Slytherin described like that before. Lindsey looked from the blonde to the teal-haired girl, neither of whom was paying much attention anymore to anything but each other.   
  
That may be part of the problem. Usagi's gaze was abstract. Think about it. If everyone thinks you're more than half evil already and goes out of their way to avoid you, wouldn't you be tempted to turn evil if only so you could show them'? I wonder how many of the Slytherin Dark wizards became such mostly because they felt they were expected to, and because they thirsted for revenge on the people who snubbed them, never bothering to even try and find out if they were worth something.  
  
I suppose . . . but does it really make that much of a difference?  
  
More than you could imagine. Once . . . there was this very evil man. He managed to suppress all my good memories, twisting them to make it seem like no one cared. He convinced me that everyone hated me and that no one, not even my parents, cared at all. Then, he offered me power. Dark power. Power I could use to get back at them all for the slights I thought they had given me, power enough for revenge. She leaned back, eyes shadowed, and said simply, I accepted the offer.   
  
You know what? Lindsey said suddenly. Slytherin may have the worst reputation in the wizarding world, but I'm glad I'm here. Because if I had gone on to Durmstrang like my father wanted, or been shuffled off unoriginally into Gryffindor like my mother was hoping, I never would have met and become . . . friends, I think . . . with the three of you.   
  
She smiled, a ray of sunlight from behind a cloud that lit up her face, and tipped her hat back, staring up into the sky. And if I hadn't met you, I never would have questioned all the slander of Slytherin. But now . . .   
  
Now I know that Slytherin is no better and no worse than any other House. And I think we should prove it to everyone else, once and for all. Let's clean up Slytherin's reputation!   
  
A lofty goal. Haruka had turned her attention away from Michiru to catch the tail end of Lindsey's announcement, eyebrows raised but an approving smile on her face. Count me in.  
  
And me. Michiru nodded emphatically.   
  
Usagi grinned. Trying to erase centuries, perhaps even millennia worth of dislike and distrust? Well, we've only got seven years to do it in. I suggest we get started!  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
As the sun brushed the tree-line, by common consensus we packed our stuff up and headed for the stairs. Checking my watch (one of the more mundane aspects of my wristband communicator), I noted out loud that we'd have just enough time to get back to our dorm and deposit our books before the call for dinner. As if on cue, my stomach vocally reminded me that food would be welcome at some point in the very near future.   
  
Walking beside me, Michiru giggled. Lindsey, however, was looking at my communicator with a curious look on her face. Funny. I was under the impression that Muggle electronics didn't work on Hogwarts grounds. Is it magical?  
  
Ah . . . something like that. It was a gift. I had heard that Luna gave the Inner Senshi theirs. Michiru's and mine just appeared out of thin air one day, much like my (and presumable her) henshin rod did. I sometimes wonder if Pluto had anything to do with that--the old Pluto, before she was reborn in our time.   
  
Climbing down all those flights of stairs was enervating, especially since once we reached the common room on the dungeon level, we'd have to climb back up another seven flights of steps--we first years had been placed in the uppermost level of dormitories. We gave the password and passed through the common room, headed towards the girls' tower, when one of Draco's ugly henchpeople (Crabbe or Goyle. I never could tell them apart) stepped forward to block our way.   
  
Ah. Ten'ou and her little group of friends. How nice of you to join us at last. A smooth voice (of which we are all so fond) drawled. Three guesses as to who, and the first two don't count. I suppose you think you are too good to associate with the likes of us. His voice was heavy with irony--perhaps I don't give him enough credit. I wouldn't have expected him to know irony if it whacked him upside the head. Speaking of whacking . . . he now had a nice purple bruise covering about half his right cheek, probably where he had fallen when I dropped him earlier today. It clashed nicely with his pink and green hair.   
  
Not especially. I answered with the best indifferent tone I could manage. Just wanted to get away from this place. It's like a dungeon in here--now all that's missing is torture instruments. Honestly, how do you people study with so little light?   
  
Are you objecting to the way we have chosen to decorate our common room? A much larger body unfolded itself from a chair over in the corner. He was tall, with strawberry blond hair, and had enough presence for someone twice his size. He looked a bit familiar, but I couldn't place from where. Do you think you could do better?   
  
I flashed a quick glance to Michiru--she is the true artist of the two of us, after all. She nodded slightly, and I turned back to the tall boy with a cocky smile on my face. Chosen _not_ to decorate it, you mean. I don't just think I could do better. I _know_ I could.   
  
Prove it. He leaned in close.   
  
Name your terms. I kept the cocky smile in place.   
  
He rocked back on his feet, contemplatively, and surprised me with a short laugh. You interest me, little girl. How can you be so completely unafraid?   
  
I hate this. If there is one thing I absolutely hate about being eleven again, it is that people _insist_ on treating me like a helpless, cute, _little_ girl. I hate it! My _name_ is Haruka Ten'ou. Please do me the honor of using it. I gritted out. You call me little girl or child again, and I will show you just exactly why I am not at all afraid of you.   
  
Michiru, looking weary. Chill. Please.   
  
My fists relaxed, and I sighed out most of my aggression, forcing the cocky smile back into place. I repeat. Name your terms.   
  
I find this quite intriguing, so I'll give you full reign. You can have the aid of anyone who cares to help--but not teachers, and no one who is not Slytherin. And you can't slack your homework to work on this little project at any time. As for a time limit . . . how about, say . . . two months. I give you until Halloween. He smirked. Little girl.   
  
I punched him in the gut--the easiest and closest target--as hard as I could. He crumpled to the floor, wheezing, and I loosed a malicious smile of my own. I have been told that, in the flickering firelight that was this room's main source of light, I looked positively evil. I bent over. Be glad I didn't aim lower. I turned and brushed Crabbe--I think it was Crabbe--aside. Come on. Let's put our stuff up before dinner starts. I swept from the room. A pretty nice exit, I think.   
  
* * *  
  
Was that really necessary? Lindsey asked as she put her books on a table beside her bed. I mean, what if he tells one of the teachers? You could get into trouble.   
  
I laughed. He looked like he was at least fourth year, and he's a boy. I sincerely doubt that he'd be willing to tell anyone that he was hurt by a little first year girl. He'd become a laughingstock! I stretched, admitting, You're right, I shouldn't have done that, but I just get so _tired_ of people calling me little girl' and child'. Especially when he did it that last time solely to see how I'd react.   
  
If you had held back, he probably would have thought you were all talk. Usagi interrupted, from her seat on her bed. Despite the possibility of getting in trouble, I think hitting back was probably the best thing you could have done if you wanted his respect. Now he knows that you're not just messing around. She crossed her legs and leaned forward. About the redecoration . . . I assume I get to help.  
  
He said any Slytherin who's willing, and I'll hold him to it. I grinned. So, any ideas to toss out before we go down to supper?   
  
Well . . . the first thing we'll need is a _lot_ more light. Lindsey began, then found herself the focus of all our eyes. What? Of _course_ I'm helping too.  
  
* * *  
  
Dinner turned out to be somewhat less formal than the feast the previous night--or even breakfast that morning--had been. Even as we entered, a large clump of younger Ravenclaw students were leaving--I assumed that tonight was their night stargazing, ours was Thursday (I had already checked). The area in front of our places was full of food already, but all of the heated food was still steaming, so it couldn't have been standing out for long.   
  
Back at the dorm, we lit some candles and worked more on our essays, occasionally pausing and throwing out new ideas for ways in which to brighten up the common room. It was obvious that it would most likely end up with a green and silver, serpentine theme--only appropriate for this House, after all--which thought reminded me of Keldir. I hadn't seen or heard from him since I let him go shortly before the Sorting and, truthfully, I was beginning to get a bit worried.   
  
Still, what could I do? Searching this monster of a castle for him would be worse than useless, especially if he had decided he didn't wish to be found for some reason. Besides, I was pretty sure he could take care of himself as long as he didn't wander someplace that contained something more dangerous than a roomful of children or adults. He'd show up eventually. Knowing him, probably at the worst moment possible.   
  
Something nudged against my elbow. I turned, and saw the bucket from that morning. Hello. What are you doing here?   
  
It just snuggled up closer to me. Do you want to stay with me? A shy bounce. Okay . . . I suppose it would get kind of lonely, being an intelligent bucket that can't communicate too well. Another, more emphatic bounce.   
  
Suddenly, I had an idea. It had been able to understand and, as far as I could tell, create hair dye . . . I sat up, turned, and gave the bucket my full attention. Tell me, bucket-chan, what do you know about paint?   
  
* * *  
  
Eventually, Millicent and Pansy arrived from wherever they had been keeping themselves, oddly enough together. Cut out the lights. Millicent grumbled. I want to go to sleep.   
  
Pansy looked at the way we were spread out, undignified, all over the center of the floor, and sniffed. And clean up that mess, would you? I don't want to trip over anything. She then caught sight of the bucket and screeched. The bucket cowered in my arms and I rubbed its metal side soothingly. What is that . . . that _thing_ doing in here?!   
  
I narrowed my eyes. The bucket, I informed her, is a friend of mine. Do not worry, there will be no repeat of this morning's events, as the bucket has been reformed. And please do not shriek. You're scaring it.   
  
She tossed her head. Just keep it _away_.  
  
Don't worry. I replied dryly. I doubt it has any intention of coming anywhere near you. Now that the other two were back and would probably continue to bother us until we did as they asked, by consensus we went ahead and cleaned up, got ready for bed, and blew out the candles. As soon as darkness descended, all my weariness suddenly seemed to catch up as well. It had been a long, tiring, but overall enjoyable day.   
  
I slid into bed next to Michiru, pulling up the covers with a contented sigh. For some reason, the bed felt . . . bigger than I remembered it being the previous night. Then again, it could have just been my imagination. I scooted a bit closer to Michiru, fidgeted a little, and finally found the perfect sleeping position. Contented and relaxed, I slipped into a deep sleep quickly and easily, not quite noticing as I passed the boundary between the waking and sleeping worlds.   
  
* * *  
  
Beside the bed in which two sleeping figures lay, the shadows seemed to draw in on each other, to be darker there than elsewhere in the room. Cloaked in the darkness, it stood silently over the two for a time, then sighed sharply, once. I don't know why . . . but I find I trust you. Each of you has already felt the touch of darkness . . . yet somehow managed to escape its taint. There is something you hide, I am sure of it . . . but then, who doesn't have a secret or two they'd rather not have come to light?   
  
A pause, then, in a lighter, more humorous tone, After all, I have several secrets of my own. You who escape the darkness . . . I doubt I will be so lucky, carrying as I do my own private darkness within me. It turned away. In the end . . . who can tell? All I know is that you . . . It seemed focused, briefly, on another bed, this one with only a single occupant, before returning that focus to the doubly-occupied bed, . . . you are a light to me. Perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . I will be able to keep the darkness at bay.   
  
The shadow turned back and bent over the bed, touching the face of first one, then the other. One stirred, briefly, but no greater reaction was induced. And for that . . . for that, I thank you. The shadow slid away, leaving no indication of its presence at the side of the bed beside which it had stood. Gliding past the window it paused and looked briefly upward. Turning away, the cold silver moonlight glinted off short blue-black hair.   
  
  
  
6/10/2001  
8/1/2002


	8. Broken Hearts

Warning: Cliffhanger. Big cliffhanger. Evil cliffhanger. If you don't want to endure the cliffhanger for the next (probably) six months or so, don't read this chapter.   
  
Otherwise, go ahead. ^_^  
  
Lindsey and Bucket-chan belong to me. No one else does.  
  
  
7. Broken Hearts  
  
I awoke in the grey of predawn. At first, I struggled to return to sleep . . . but then one small part of my brain reminded me that there were more interesting things to do. Noting the fact, grumbling at myself, I pulled myself all the way awake, got out of bed, and dressed quickly. Picking up Bucket-chan (I know, horrible name . . . but the previous night I had been too tired think . . . and this morning I was still too tired to be original), I made my way toward the door.   
  
Nearly there, I stopped and turned, halted by the combination of voice and a movement caught out of the corner of my eye. Haruka? What are you doing up so early? It looked like Lindsey, though I couldn't see all that well in this light, and certainly sounded like her.   
  
I just woke up and since I doubt I'd be able to go back to sleep anytime soon, I decided to make the best of it and see if I could start in on the common room. Did I wake you up? I'm sorry.  
  
Don't be. I'm a _very_ light sleeper . . . and I need little enough sleep anyway that I probably would have woken up fairly soon on my own. She hesitated. Wait a moment, and I'll come down with you.   
  
So I stood there and after a surprisingly small amount of time, the shifting air currents told me that she was once more standing before me. We headed down the six flights of stairs from our room (the uppermost, of course) to the common room. As we emerged into the room, I was delighted to see that the lights brightened automatically from almost complete darkness. They still didn't shed as much light as I thought they ought to, but they at least provided enough light for me to see where I was going.   
  
Although . . . it seemed like there ought to be an easier way. I pulled out my copy of The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and flipped through until I finally found the spell that I _thought_ I had remembered seeing before. I held up my wand. It wasn't pure white--slightly yellowish around the edges in fact--but it sufficed.   
  
Using one of the many antique-looking chairs that littered the room, I managed to snag one of the green lanterns that decorated the ceiling. To my surprise, it was not the lanterns, but the light itself that was tinted green. Perfect. Now all I had to do was figure out a nice, self-sustaining light spell . . . and alter these lanterns some, so there wouldn't be any glare in people's eyes if they were for some reason hit with the sudden urge to look up.   
  
Using The Standard Book of Spells and Magical Theory (a book I wasn't quite sure just which class it was for . . .) in tandem, I finally figured out a workable way of brightening the lights and making them less green. I will admit that I did leave them somewhat blue-tinted . . . personal preference I admit, I rather like the cloudy-sky-ambient-light look.   
  
In the mean time, Lindsey had managed to sweat out a way in which to mold the material on the bottom of the lanterns to form a dish-shape, more or less, and at the same time Transfigure the dish' into a somewhat more opaque material. Looked like at least those lessons were showing some practical purpose already.   
  
Lindsey took one look at the work I was doing and shook her head. If you don't mind, I'll keep Transfiguring the lanterns and let you change the lights. Funny. She made it sound almost as if I was doing the harder part of the job.   
  
I just took her first lantern from her hands and handed her mine. Strangely enough, I was thinking the exact same thing.   
  
We had gotten . . . oh, six or seven of the lights done when Michiru came stumbling down. Haruka! You should have warned me. She hadn't taken the time to do much more than throw on her robe before coming down in search of me; her hair was still sticking up in places. Needless to say, to me she looked absolutely adorable.  
  
Sorry. I didn't want to wake you.   
  
She sighed, then came over and kissed me on the nose. Okay. But next time . . . do. When I saw you were missing I nearly had a heart attack.   
  
I pulled her down to my level--seated on the floor--and hugged her. I really am sorry . . . I didn't think. So, want to help now that you're awake?   
  
Considering look, then a nod. Just . . . I need to do my hair and get ready otherwise. I'll be back down soon. I stood along with her and ruffled her hair into even more of a mess purely for the fun of it. She pout/glared at me.   
  
What? You're even more adorable like that. I grinned back and, predictably, her face softened.   
  
Love is blind' indeed. She muttered. You, my dear, need glasses.   
  
But why, when I already see you through rose-tinted lenses?   
  
Roses are fine, as long as you don't throw them at me.   
  
But for that, I'd also need a cane and a tuxedo.   
  
Who would you be then? Tuxedo Un-masked? She laughed. Fun as this wordplay is, dear, I really do need to clean up. See you soon. Her fingers lingered in mine as far as we could stretch, then she made her way up the stairs and soon out of sight. I turned back, only to see Lindsey looking at me with a rather strange expression on her face.   
  
You love each other. She volunteered tentatively.   
  
Oh boy. Here it comes. Now that I'm no longer making even the slightest effort to hide my true gender, there will be the inevitable strange looks and drawing away and nasty comments and . . . ooh! Sometimes I really hate how close-minded the world can be at times.   
  
That's nice. She blinked. But aren't you a bit . . . young?   
  
I nearly facefaulted. _That_, I had not been expecting. Well . . . um . . . I don't know. All I know is that I've never loved anyone as much as I love Michiru, and she's never loved anyone as much as she loves me . . . and that our love will last, in spite of any obstacle that is put in our way. We've known each other for nearly three years . . . almost from the beginning, she has been one of my closest friends. But even when I avoided her because of what she represented to me, I still felt drawn to her. She _is_ the one for me, Lindsey. There is no one else.   
  
What did she represent to you? Lindsey asked. Perhaps idle curiosity, perhaps because she wished to change the subject . . . I didn't really blame her. I suppose listening to me rant about how much I love Michiru would be pretty boring to anyone but me.   
  
I busied myself replacing one of the lights, ignoring the blue-black-haired girl's look of mild impatience. Finally, I looked back up, knowing she would wait until she received an answer. My Destiny.   
  
* * *  
  
The week passed by so quickly, it seemed. Just like most (if not all) of the rest of the school, we first years had all the typical' classes, if not any of the more interesting electives that students get to start picking up in third year. Professor Flitwick, a rather small, excitable man, taught us Charms. He seemed rather impressed with me for having been able to pull off such an advanced Charm' as the translation spell. I tried to tell him it was just because I didn't know any better, but I don't know that he believed me. Tuesday and Thursday mornings and Wednesday afternoons we had Herbology with Professor Sprout--the Head of Hufflepuff.   
  
Then there was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell. He stutters, and seems to have no idea what he's talking about half the time. For someone who is supposed to know so much about Dark creatures and spells, he doesn't seem to bother with passing on that information--if, that is, he even knew anything to begin with. That first lesson, he attempted to lecture us on vampires. Despite the fact that he was supposedly attacked by one in . . . Albania, was it? No, Romania . . . at least half of the information he passed on to us was either not quite right or downright wrong.   
  
Lindsey, who seemed to have extensive knowledge of the subject (she claimed self-defense--evidently there are several vampires roaming around her area of Germany, so it was only smart to learn as much about them as possible), corrected him nearly every other sentence. Even I, on half-remembered knowledge of the few sections of the textbook that I had skimmed through, was able to correct him once.   
  
Then there was stargazing on the roof on Thursday--perhaps my favorite class'. We brought out our telescopes (each student had his or her own) and observed the different stars and planets. To my surprise, these telescopes had considerably greater resolution than the Muggle equivalents in size--we could actually see Pluto as a vague dot, far better than I had ever managed before in ordinary telescopes . . . oh, three to four times this size at least. And the views of Uranus and Neptune, not to mention the rest of the planets . . . truly awe-inspiring.   
  
And then every spare hour, of course, was spent improving' the common room. From whenever we woke up until breakfast, spare minutes snatched between lunch and the afternoon class, and whatever time we had left after we finished our daily allotment' of homework. Hm . . . that sounds rather more driven than we were. It's true, we took what time we could to work on it, but we didn't always work hard and we'd take breaks and just chat--or complain about how it seemed like nearly every single teacher had some sort of prejudice against Slytherin.   
  
By the time Friday morning rolled around, I was actually beginning to look forward to Potions. Surely, being Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape wouldn't be prejudiced against us. I thought. I had overheard some complaints about him from students who had had him already, and it seemed like nothing they had to say was good. Still, I had not yet run into him, so I was reserving judgment for the moment. He was said to show clear favor to Slytherins and detest everyone else, but I rather hoped that particular rumor wasn't true--such clear bias leaves me feeling rather dirty, as if I somehow cheated. Admittedly, a lack of prejudice against us would be _very_ nice. Only one thing stopped me from looking forward to Potions wholeheartedly.   
  
We shared the class with Gryffindor.   
  
If anyone was willing to listen to my opinion, I would willingly have talked their ears off about what a _stupid_ idea that was. As it was, our conversations got to the point where Lindsey, Michiru, and Usagi devised a schedule as to whose turn it was to suggest I shut up or at least talk about something else for a while. That is, when they weren't complaining about it themselves. I mean, Gryffindor and Slytherin being expected to remain in the same classroom for several hours . . . heck, even for more than five minutes! . . . without seriously maiming each other?   
  
Sharing with Gryffindor meant that we had to be in the same class as our princess and Minako. It also meant watching Draco antagonize all the Gryffindors--something he seemed uniquely suited to, as he could do so without even half trying . . . and if there was one thing about Draco, above all others, that remained constant, it was that he was always trying to antagonize the Gryffindors. Well, that's not entirely true. He alternated between antagonizing the Gryffindors and annoying me. Still, this was not going to be an enjoyable period of time.   
  
Friday morning started off so well, too. As usual, the four of us woke up much earlier than almost everyone else--certainly earlier than either Millicent or Pansy. We ate an early breakfast in the Great Hall--I haven't figured out the mechanism yet, but somehow something _knew_ when people sat down . . . and even, roughly, which people. As soon as we sat down, dishes would appear in front of us, from which we could get as little or as much breakfast as we pleased.   
  
I waved jauntily in the general direction of Ami, who was also in the habit of getting up, coming, and eating fairly early--quite a few of the Ravenclaws seemed to be in this habit, unlike the rest of the school. I noticed that Mamoru and Hotaru didn't seem to be up yet, however. Of course, she pointedly did not acknowledge me at all, but the others sitting close to her immediately turned to her and started chattering. Probably wondering when she had become close enough friends with a dreaded _Slytherin_ to where said detestable person would wave at her.   
  
Michiru's lips twitched. Was that wise?   
  
I made a pretense of considering the question seriously. Probably not. But I don't care. It was fun!   
  
Usagi shook her head, her eyes glinting with laughter. Poor Ami. Just imagine the interrogation she must be suffering through now.   
  
Lindsey watched in silence. After breakfast, we went back to the common room. Because the Potions room was so near Slytherin Tower, we had a couple of extra minutes in which to work, even. Lindsey and I finally managed to finish resetting the lamps, Michiru had finished outlining the snake motif she was planning on painting in around the doorway, and Chibiusa had finally managed to convince the bucket to create a fabric dye that layered like paint, allowing her to re-dye all the chair cushions a nice, cheerful leaf green.   
  
We set out for the classroom with a couple of minutes to spare--no sense in being late to class, after all. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville--the Gryffindors from the train--were already in class, as were (surprisingly enough!) Usagi and Minako. I wondered who had managed to get the two blondes down here on time . . . whoever it was, I was considering suggesting that they forget about school. They could already make quite a decent living performing miracles.   
  
The four of us came in and found our seats--quite purposefully as far away from the other Gryffindors (read: two of the other Gryffindors in particular) as we could manage. Soon enough, Draco entered with his two ever-present hench-goons dogging his every step. After that, alone and in clumps alike, the rest of the Slytherin first-years and what looked like the remainder of the Gryffindors as well, drifted in. I checked my watch. Almost time--Professor Snape ought to be appearing any second now.   
  
I admit, at that point I halfway expected him to suddenly appear from a cloud of black smoke or enter in some other sinister-seeming way. No such luck--he just walked into the classroom through a door I had not noticed before--most likely connected to his office or something similar.   
  
Even if his entrance left something to be desired, though, no one could deny that he had a very noticeable Presence. There was something about him that drew the eye, that caused people to almost involuntarily stop talking. They just couldn't help it. Sure, he might not look like much--he was rather skinny, somewhat pale, had hair greasy enough to look like it hadn't been washed in weeks and cold, distant black eyes--but he exuded Don't Cross Me' vibes even more strongly than Professor McGonagall.   
  
Like all the rest of our teachers on our first day with them, one of the first things he did was call roll. No surprise there. I admit my tentative opinion of him lowered abruptly when he smiled--more of a smirk, really, but at least not quite what seemed to be his habitual sneer--at Draco. Well . . . perhaps he just didn't know yet.  
  
Then he reached Harry's name. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the black-haired boy cringe. To a certain extent, I sympathized--it's hard trying to develop a good working relationship with people when they persist in idolizing you. I'm just lucky that a lot fewer people follow racing, so there are many people back in our original world who had no clue that I was anything other than a high school dropout with some external means of support--rich parents, perhaps.   
  
Harry, now . . . he was famous in a way that made sure that everyone in the wizarding world knew his name as well as just why he was so famous. Only in the Muggle world could he find any relief from the constant regard. And if anyone remained who still followed Voldemort's dreams . . . Harry could very well be in quite real danger. Then there's jealousy . . .  
  
So perhaps this explains why, when Professor Snape reached Harry's name, I expected him to react in an Oh my!' sort of way. Instead, he smiled--and this sneer had none of the tentative good feelings of the one directed towards Draco. Ah, yes. Our new . . . _celebrity_. His cold eyes glared with a new emotion, apart from the complacent (more or less) neutrality with which he regarded the rest of us. Hatred. Pure and cold and all-consuming.   
  
Did I mention that Snape didn't like Harry?   
  
Then again, from his demeanor, he didn't seem to like much of anyone Gryffindor. I was beginning to fear that all those rumors (about favoritism toward Slytherin) were right. What a drag . . .   
  
Because I didn't have any real plan, I just sat and watched uncomfortably as Snape tried his hardest to make a fool out of Harry. What else could I do? I was still trying to retain a certain amount of respect toward him--he was our teacher, after all--and that made me reluctant to just disrupt class. I knew, from watching Hermione waving her hand in the air (like an elementary school student who's _really gotta go!!_) that anything less than completely _disrupting_ class would not interfere in his . . . vendetta? . . . against Harry.   
  
Then too was the question . . . should I? Considering the fact that I was Slytherin, my interfering on his behalf would not be gladly regarded by what friends he had (I had no clue how many and how good of friends he had made in the past week, although from what I had seen, he seemed to be getting along with the Weasley kid--Ron--fairly well), and perhaps not even by himself. And . . . face it, everyone has to learn sometime that not everyone's their friend. Would I truly be doing him any favors by interceding?   
  
While I argued with myself, by my side Michiru was getting more and more restless.   
  
What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?   
  
Michiru jolted out of her seat in such a way as to draw the attention of everyone. Monkshood and wolfsbane are two commonly used names for the plant aconite. Her hands came down on her desk, not quite a slap, but hard enough to create a quite noticeable noise. Now that we've demonstrated, Professor Snape, that Harry Potter knows no more than the rest of us, perhaps you could get on to the _real_ lesson?   
  
Snape reddened, and I silently applauded my partner. She had done a better job of distracting Snape than I ever could have--I knew probably even less of the herbs and fungi than Harry, whereas Michiru, for some strange reason, was almost fascinated by them. Her disruption finished, Michiru sat back down and demurely crossed her legs.   
  
One point from Gryffindor for your cheek, he growled, Miss . . . ah . . .  
  
Michiru Kaiou. Her voice remained demure, calm, and sweet. And that's Slytherin.   
  
* * *  
  
After we got out of Potions, Lindsey declared her intention to go out and do battle with the sun once again this afternoon. Her face was still somewhat pink from our last sojourn outside, admittedly in a rather . . . interesting . . . patchwork pattern--I would have thought that the hat she wore was tightly woven enough to block out all light, but reality seemed determined to prove otherwise. Poor girl. I don't know that I've ever met someone who sunburns quite so badly.   
  
Oh well. It was her skin. Seeing as we _did_ have homework that rather needed doing, and I think we were all happier outside at that point, even if the common room wasn't _quite_ as intimidating and gloomy anymore. There's just something inherently _nice_ about sunlight. Or clouds. Just . . . the sky in general. And the wind is nice too, of course--this _is_ me, the senshi of the winds, who's talking, after all.   
  
Most of the rest of my homework was done; just about all I had left was the stupid History of Magic essay. Sigh. I really didn't want to do that essay . . . but I wanted even less to get bad marks in any class, much less that one . . . so I really had no choice.   
  
After far too long a period of time in which I did nothing but stare blankly at a piece of parchment that was equally blank, I sighed and jumped to my feet, beginning to pace. I do tend to think better on my feet. Michiru, used to it, didn't even look up; Usagi and Lindsey looked up briefly, ascertained that I wasn't doing anything to be worried about, and turned their attention back to their work.   
  
Gradually, I found I was pacing farther each time back and forth, until I began to circle the entire section of roof. And still no ideas. I _knew_ I had to defend the existence of the Silver Millennium, my pride wouldn't let me do anything else, but how? As I had noted earlier, all the evidence seemed to point in the other direction. A magical kingdom on the moon? Psh. Yeah right.   
  
I'm still not sure exactly what it was that caught my attention, but suddenly, on the far end of my circuit, I became abruptly aware of the fact that I was no longer alone.   
  
She asked, standing there, hair blowing gently in the wind, calm and self-contained as she has always been. No Apparition is possible within Hogwarts grounds . . . but if anyone could have managed, it was her. She always was in the habit of appearing unexpectedly out of nowhere.  
  
Why what? I asked, genuinely confused. Although I did have a question of my own beginning with that word--_Why are you here? Why now?_ And perhaps _What do you want?_ Why did I kill you? I paused, asked with growing dread, It was you I killed, right?   
  
She shook her head, pierced me with those red eyes of hers. So, you don't remember. I wondered. She closed her eyes, then continued quietly, With those golden bursts flying all over the place, it was hard to tell even at the time just who was hit by what. But you were aiming for Hotaru.   
  
I sank to my knees. Until she uttered those words, I had put off my grief and self-hatred, allowed myself to be comforted by the lack of memory that surrounded the event. But now . . . _I killed my daughter_. _I _killed_ my daughter._ It repeated itself over and over in my head, a grotesque parody of a mantra.   
  
She knelt before me, seizing my shoulders, forcing my eyes to rise and meet hers. Why do you think I can bear it, bear to be in your presence? Only the knowledge that it wasn't you. No, I just thought you'd be most likely to know, since I cannot bear to ask her myself--why did Michiru break the staff?   
  
Of all the things I had feared, that was not among them. The Time Staff is broken? My eyes, I'm sure, were wide--how could they not be? It was like one of the foundations of reality had suddenly crumbled--which simile was probably not too far from the literal truth.   
  
You didn't know? She examined me closely, eyes piercing my soul. You really don't remember anything, do you?  
  
I shook my head, smiled weakly. Just brief flashes. Even that much, I'd love not to have . . . except memory is what makes a person who they are. If I let my memories be destroyed--even, or perhaps especially, the bad ones!--then I would no longer be who I am. Just some happy little hollow shell.   
  
The talk of broken objects recalled to mind something I had tried my hardest (for the most part successfully) to suppress my thoughts of. For practically the first time since that battle, I drew my Space Sword.   
  
For some reason, whenever I look at it now, I tend to think trite phrases about broken hearts. There it was, the crack that engulfed nearly half the blade, all the tiny lines radiating out from that one place where Galaxia had caught it. If I looked closely enough--which I had already, only once before refusing to do so again; it hurt too much--I could see the dents. Such was the strength of Chaos. Two of the three Talismans, broken or badly damaged . . . that could hardly spell good for the world.   
  
The Mirror? For a moment, so caught up was I in my thoughts, I didn't realize Setsuna had spoken. She repeated her query about the time my mind caught up with the first time.   
  
I shrugged. As far as we can tell, it's as good as new. Hard to tell for certain, seeing as there hasn't really been anything happening that it would pick up.   
  
She nodded. Well, that's something, I suppose.   
  
I sank to the roof, taking a seat and staring out into the blue sky, hardly aware that she might object to my presence so near by. And even here, there's no definitive peace. Just a new set of problems. That reminded me. Setsuna . . . have you heard of Voldemort?   
  
She nodded. There's a section on him in several of the more common History texts. That boy, Harry Potter, too. You know . . . when I accepted the invitation to come to Hogwarts, I kind of expected it to be, I don't know . . .  
  
Peaceful? A pleasant break away from a place that held too many bad memories as it was? I couldn't keep the ironic smile from forming.   
  
She laughed. Oh . . . and then to see Minako as practically one of the first people . . . that must have been a shock.   
  
I tried my hardest to glare, but somehow it just didn't work. It wasn't funny, you know.   
  
I know. How do you think I felt when . . . _her_ name was called? Or even before that, when you came up to cast the translation spell? A pause. Nice work, by the way.   
  
Thanks. I learned it from Michiru's mom--though, evidently, it's too complex a spell for me to be supposed to be able to do at this stage in my magical development. I wrinkled my nose. That's what Professor Flitwick says, at least.   
  
We're probably our _real_ ages as far as magical development is concerned. Then again, that's not exactly information Professor Flitwick would be privy to, is it?  
  
One would hope not. I agreed dryly. Though I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to know. He acts senile, but that just makes it all the harder to try to figure out what he knows and what he doesn't. I shook my head. Then again . . . how would he find out? Certainly there are very few outside the senshi who know . . . and I doubt any of them would think to contact Dumbledore about it.   
  
I read somewhere that there is a break in conversation approximately every seven minutes. It is a factoid that I always seem to remember when--as ours did--a conversation I'm participating in dies. While not _comfortable_, neither was it a wholly hostile silence. For the first time since that night, I began to believe there might actually be a hope of regaining Setsuna's friendship.   
  
Idly, my fingers brushed along the length of my sword, catching at and feeling every individual crack; each a brand new rent in my heart. Looking over, I saw that Setsuna was looking down at my sword with the oddest expression on her face.   
  
She visibly jumped. Oh . . . I was just thinking. I think . . . I may know a way to fix your sword. _That's right . . . she always was interested in weaponsmaking.   
  
. . . How did I know that?_  
  
Do you trust me?   
  
I turned my regard, temporarily diverted towards staring over the edge at the ground, so far below, to her face. Did I trust her? I always used to, more completely than I trusted anyone besides Michiru.   
  
But did I now, when I knew she had a perfectly good reason to wish me dead, and that--given the tone of her question--this might very well provide her with the perfect opportunity to kill me?   
  
I nearly shook my head, belatedly remembering to keep it a purely mental movement. Did it matter if I trusted her? Either she'd fix it--for which I'd be eternally grateful--or she'd fail, possibly killing me in the process, possibly on purpose. But . . . once I returned to life, I swore to myself that, if the time ever came that Setsuna or Hotaru wanted to claim my life, I would do nothing to stop them.   
  
They deserved that much, at least. And with that thought in mind, the decision was no decision after all.   
  
She put out her hand. Give me the sword. I handed it over, seized by a sudden reluctance that I ruthlessly drove down. I know the theory . . . the Talisman ought to have separated itself fully from your heart crystal, so you shouldn't feel a thing, but if it hasn't . . . She trailed off. Haruka, are you sure you want to go through with this?   
  
I nodded. In its own way, the Space Sword was nearly as important to me as Michiru. To see it wounded like this . . . and, if I let this opportunity pass me by, to know that I might have had a chance to heal it, had I just had the courage to take it.   
  
She nodded in response, face pale and lips tight. One hand gripped the hilt, the other held about three-quarters of the way down--just past where most of the cracks stopped. Both held the sword so tightly that her knuckles has turned white and blood was seeping out where her fingers came into contact with the sword's sharp edges.   
  
Brilliantly red blood, that ran down the blade, funneling itself into the cracks and casting them into sharp relief.  
  
Everything seemed suddenly, violently, clearer and brighter than before. As if in slow motion, Setsuna's grip tightened even further.   
  
Her eyes were sad.   
  
With one mighty wrench, the sword snapped in half, and my heart with it.   
  
And I fell.   
  
  
2/9/2003


	9. Original Version: Ch 1 through 18

And here it is . . . the first half of the entire original version.   
  
And unfortunately, Harry Potter and Sailormoon *still* don't belong to me.  
  
  
  
1. An End and a Beginning  
  
She and I died that night. But the worst part, in many ways, was not our death. We knew it would happen eventually, it had happened before, and in our line of work, it seemed a certainty that it would happen again. Being one of ten people that stand between our world and domination by ultimate evil does not tend to do good things to your projected lifespan. No, the worst part was not our death, but what had come after. The cold stares, the accusatory looks, and the knowledge that you had just betrayed the one you were sworn to protect and she knew it. Hers was not the cold or accusatory stare, because she refused to look at us, refused even to acknowledge our existence. She can forgive nearly anything, I think, but everyone has their limits, even her, and it was painfully obvious that we had finally hit hers.   
  
And then, to discover that we had all somehow reverted to eleven years old again, even Mamoru and Setsuna, who have always been years older than us. Our happy home was gone, the four of us who had been a family, a good, happy family, before we had to go and ruin it.   
  
We can't go home tonight. Michiru, my partner, confidante, best friend, beloved, had again spoken exactly what I was thinking, through that uncanny connection we have. Sometimes, it seems we can almost read the other's thoughts, but she's always been much better in figuring out what's on my mind than I have been, trying to figure out what she's thinking.   
  
Her aqua hair was disarrayed, lying flat and dull against her head, falling into her face. Her beautiful cerulean eyes, too, were dulled by the recent events. She felt the scorn, the abandonment at least as deeply as I, although I had always seen her as the strong one in our relationship, with the strength of character to always go on no matter what. To see us both brought so low–Usagi's companionship had never seemed to mean much to us, but now that we had lost it . . . it was a dreadfully lonely feeling. I think the fact that we still had each other was all that kept us from completely breaking down.  
  
I agreed, as we stood lonely in the shadows, watching the others separate and head to their own homes. They'll hate us forever . . . and at times, I can't really blame them.   
  
Michiru sighed. Somehow, everything always ends up landing on her shoulders. We both knew who she was talking about, the blonde princess we had sworn to serve, who now refused even to acknowledge our existence. It doesn't matter what you or I do, it doesn't matter what any of the senshi do . . . she'll always be the one to take the brunt of it, and she's always the one who ends up saving us.  
  
Michiru's right. Everything we've done . . . it doesn't really matter when all the cards are laid on the table. None of our action have ever made any real difference that I could tell, and I only wish . . . I wish that I knew that what we have done, dirtying our hands continuously, really did matter. That some action of ours, that we knew was the right one–except events turned out to show it wasn't–actually *had* made a difference.   
  
I know I will never be the one to decisively defeat the enemy, or to banish the evil, but it would help immensely if I just knew . . . that what we have done was not as futile as it seems now, that we knew of at least one time the decision we made that she contested, was the right one. It's hard, realizing that you are useless to the team except as a source of firepower, that the life you've been living has always been a lie. That every time she said Sacrifices do not have to be made! she was right and we were wrong. So wrong.  
  
At some point, we sat down, I think, although I have no memory of the actual act. We knew of no place to go where we would be welcomed–and it was certain that we would not be welcomed at what we had come to see as our home. So we sat there, in the park, waiting for the dawn to come. Knowing it would be a long time before the dawn came in our hearts.  
  
We could try my parents' house. Michiru suggested quietly, as the dark surrounded us. The street lamp had winked out quite a while ago. Perhaps, the change in our ages has also changed their opinion of us. And if they've forgotten everything, since we didn't actually meet until years from now, I could just introduce you as a friend of mine. Unless you'd rather try your house . . .   
  
I answered shortly. If being eleven now was anything like having been eleven then, I did not want to come anywhere near my parents' house. Allow it to suffice to say that my life became a great deal easier when I grew large enough to hit back. I stood up, extending a hand to help her regain her feet. It's better than waiting here all night, I suppose.   
  
* * *  
  
We walked. Distances seemed a great deal further, when one is only eleven years old, and the world in general was a larger, scarier place. Not much farther. Michiru assured me. She was reading my mind again, and I flashed her a quick, small smile. Just enough to let her know that truly, I didn't mind the walk–which I didn't, especially with her company.   
  
I could tell it took her nearly all her courage to go up and ring the doorbell–she was more frightened, I think, by this than she had been by Galaxia. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, to let her know that I was there and that I would never leave her. We may have been abandoned by our friends and estranged from our families, but I refused to believe that anything could ever come between us. Even death–him we knew, and he held very little fear, at least for me, anymore. To someone who has died twice in this life alone, although I have no clear memories of either, death did not scare either of us anymore. Besides . . . if we died, we'd die together, and with Michiru by my side, nothing holds any fear for me.  
  
Then the door opened, and a tall (I had never noticed how tall Michiru's mom was–another benefit of being eleven and short again, I guess) woman looked down at us with worry and relief. Michiru, Haruka, where have you been? You said the battle would be over long before dark, but it's almost dawn now.   
  
I couldn't help it. I knew, even as I said it, that it was not the wisest thing to say, but my mouth ran miles ahead of my brain. You know?!   
  
Michiru's mother frowned slightly. That the two of you are Sailor Senshi? Of course dear, you told me yourself. She bent down, to look both of us in the eye. Except . . . there's something different about you now. Your auras are all out of whack, and your eyes . . . I can see it in your eyes, the bitter knowledge that only experience brings. The bond between you has grown immeasurably as well, a strength that I only see between old married couples, usually. Yet you are both still clearly my daughter and her best friend. What happened?   
  
Michiru smiled a bit, painfully. We both killed and were killed today, Mom . . . and neither did any good. In addition, yesterday, we were both seventeen . . .  
  
. . . Living on our own with the two people we ended up killing, the two people we would have wanted least to ever cause any hurt to at all . . .  
  
. . . Still friends, even if the relationship was a bit strained, with the rest of the senshi, instead of outcast . . .  
  
. . . Completely estranged from you and the rest of Michiru's family because you disapproved of Michiru's lifestyle choices . . .  
  
And you are now very much taller than I remember you being. I commented idly. I've always looked down on you–literally, as well as figuratively at your disinheritance of Michiru simply because she chose to spend her life with me.  
  
A decision that I've never regretted making. Michiru added softly, turning to me with eyes that had regained a bit of their shine and squeezing my hand.  
  
Michiru's mother's frown had become the genuine thing, instead of just an expression of thoughtfulness. A decision you should never have had to make in the first place. What in the world was I thinking? She paused. That didn't come out quite the way it should have.   
  
I laughed, for the first time in what seems like forever. I found myself genuinely liking Michiru's mother, something I would never have thought possible before. I don't know . . . remember, we were sixteen at the time . . . and it must have been quite a shock to have your daughter bring home a nice young man . . . only to find out that he was a girl.   
  
Still, that's no reason to disinherit anyone, much less someone as sensible as Michiru. I trust her to make the right choices.   
  
Michiru choked up. It was obvious, just looking at her, that she could barely breathe through the lump in her throat, much less talk. Yet somehow, she managed it, throwing her arms around her mother like she would never let her go, like the eleven year old we seemed to be, instead of the aloof, standoffish teenager I had come to know and love. But seeing this side of her did not change my feelings, except to love her even more–if such a thing were possible–and envy the closeness with her mother that Michiru had been lucky enough to discover. Thank you, Mom. She whispered, a silent tear making its way down her face. You'll never know how much this means to me.   
  
And I just stood there, desperately wishing that it was me, being engulfed by my mother's hug and all the love that hug embodied. Michiru's mother must have realized this, for she looked up from her daughter, her cerulean eyes–so much like Michiru's!–boring into my soul. I don't know what my relationship with the seventeen-year-old you was. She stated softly. I don't particularly want to know, because I'd probably end up liking that myself even less than I already do. But I want you to know this–*I* have always thought of you as another daughter. She disengaged one arm from hugging Michiru and held it out to me. There's room–if you want to join.   
  
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Like Michiru, a lump had formed, completely blocking my throat. Perhaps it was just as well–even if I could have spoken, I doubt anyone would have understood what I said, as it would have been completely unintelligible, not at all like Michiru's eloquence. I just walked over, and soon found myself being hugged by two people and feeling more beloved than I can ever remember having felt.  
  
And that was when I realized that, even if there was a way for us to return to the age we had been only hours before, I no longer wanted to. Nothing would bring back to us the friends we had lost, and at eleven I found something that I had never found at seventeen–someone, besides Michiru, who is and always will be special, who truly loved me.  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
2. A Letter Arrives  
  
The thought was totally bizarre. Absolutely no way. I accepted Michiru's mother's word for it, when said that witches and wizards existed–why not, when what we senshi did on a daily basis could qualify easily as magic? But that I was one?! No, that just didn't work. How would you know? I heard Michiru asking. It was easy to tell by her tone of voice that she was at least as shocked and confused as I . . . it's just easier for her to cope, shunting aside inconsequentials to focus more closely on that which needs her attention. In that way, too, she is stronger than I.  
  
That you are senshi is enough proof in my opinion. To have that strong a connection to a planet and be able to coalesce and control its energy into an attack shows a great deal of magical talent and potential. She smiled. But the reason I know for certain is that I got a letter for each of you from Professor McGonagall. She's a teacher at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain, but more importantly, she has a book that lists all the potential students–all the children with magical potential in the world, and the fact that you each received an acceptance letter is proof that you are witches.   
  
Acceptance letter? I asked. It would be nice to get away from the bad memories this place held–and I was sure none of the other senshi would miss us if we left, but England? It seemed awfully far away.  
  
Notification that you passed the entrance requirements. If you'd rather not go, then you don't have to, but this gives you the opportunity to go if that is what you wish. Michiru's mother smiled. Don't worry, you won't have to decide for about a month yet, and when you do–I'll just send them your reply.  
  
Michiru and I exchanged a long look. We found quite a while ago that there are many conversations which have no need for words, and this was one of them. We'd be glad to accept. Frankly . . . now that we are no longer truly a part of the senshi . . . you and your husband are the only things holding us here. I added the last part sadly. Michiru and I had readjusted somewhat to it once again being just the two of us . . . but it was still hard to think of the others, and the sadness and loneliness was nearly overwhelming when we tried. The only thing that kept us from being completely depressed was the supportive atmosphere at Michiru's–no, our house. That's how I thought of it now, our house, our parents.   
  
Besides the memories . . . the strongest of which are the sad ones. Michiru added. It would be nice to start anew.  
  
This time, I initiated the hug. I will miss you so much, I forced around the lump in my throat. Being your daughter, if only for this short a time, has been an experience that I will hold close to my heart forever.   
  
It's not like I'll be that far away. She offered. Halfway around the world is still not all that far and if you're ever lonely, you can always send us an owl. And then there's Christmas and Easter and summer, when I hope you'll come back here–either that or perhaps we'll go there–I remember spending Christmas and sometimes Easter at Hogwarts. We always had fun.  
  
What about all the supplies and such that we're supposed to have? My Michiru, ever practical–except those times when she's not. But I was curious, too, especially after having seen the list–long black robes and pointy hats, it reminded me of an old horror movie–or of MacBeth, with the three witches poised over their cauldron and cackling madly.  
  
Then I saw that a cauldron was on the list of supplies, to. My lips twitched. Sure, it wouldn't look quite right with only a small pewter cauldron instead of a gigantic iron one, but still–  
  
Double, double toil and trouble. Michiru murmured, and I realized she had seen the exact same thing as I. We shared a glance full of laughter.  
  
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. I completed the thought.   
  
It seemed Michiru's mother had read MacBeth at some point, since it didn't take her too long to catch on to our reference. Yet it didn't seem to me that our reference was *that* funny. She had fallen to the ground, her laughter was so powerful, and she couldn't seem to stop. Finally she regained control of herself. Sorry kids, she gasped, wiping her eyes. But my Potions teacher was *such* a dried up old stick and he hated every one of us. Just the thought of doing that while mixing up one of those boring old potions we had to learn . . . he probably would have docked our house at least fifty points if we had ever tried that on him.   
  
I asked. There was time enough, later, to figure out who we' was.  
  
She nodded. All Hogwarts students are divided into four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Each student earns or loses points for his house, and at the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the house cup and is honored at the end of the year banquet.  
  
Probably intense rivalry of some sort as well. Hogwarts began to sound more and more interesting. So, what now?   
  
First, we send off your reply to Minerva. Then we take a short trip to Diagon Alley in London, to pick up your school supplies.  
  
Michiru grimaced. I guess . . . since we will go to school in England . . . must practice my English. She said in a stilted manner, in that language.   
  
I winced but stayed silent. My English is even worse than hers–although I understand more than her at times, she is by far the better speaker–and, while we were both near the top of our class, we were far from fluent. Very far.  
  
Our mother (Our! It's such a wonderful word, especially when applied to so wonderful a person. And to have a mother again . . . I love her, nearly as much as I do Michiru, although in different ways) frowned. Yes, I will have to do something about that. I know a spell that should work . . . She drew a wand out from within the folds of her dress. Did she always carry it on her, I wondered, or was today a special occasion?  
  
With a few muttered words, she pointed the wand at us. A bright flash of white light appeared on the tip, then expanded to enwrap both of us. Suddenly, my head felt on fire and I collapsed to the ground, barely conscious of Michiru beside me doing the same thing, as an entire language and all the nuances that accompany really *knowing* a language all forced themselves into my head at once.   
  
Michiru commented weakly, and I felt myself moved to agree with another groan. That hurt.   
  
A hand thrust itself beneath my nose, holding a few small white tablets. Don't worry, Mother reassured me. They're just sugar tablets. Being slightly hyper helps to keep down the headache and the pain tends to fade faster. She grimaced. I still remember when my mother did it to me, except she tried to force French, Spanish, German, and Russian on me at the same time, in addition to English. It took days for my head to stop hurting.  
  
You're so encouraging. I grunted. Lovely. Days of this mindbending agony while my brain tried to cope with having a whole new library of knowledge stuffed into it.   
  
It's not so bad. She smiled. After all, you're speaking English fluently already, in case you hadn't noticed. I hadn't, although now that I thought about it, it seemed rather obvious.   
  
Michiru and I exchanged a long glance as I clambered to my feet and held out a supporting hand. Remind me, next time, to just take the class.  
  
I agree wholeheartedly. Michiru looked like she wanted to nod her agreement, but that would make her head hurt too much.  
  
* * *  
  
A few days later, cured of the lingering headache, I sat outside, reveling in the feel of the wind dancing through my hair, slapping random tendrils into my face that I did not even bother to brush away. It was about time for me to cut it again, I realized, now that the back had gotten long enough to where it could be blown into my face again.   
  
But then . . . why cut it? I like my hair short, but I've also always rather missed the feel of it blowing against my face and lying against my neck. The real reason I cut it originally, shortly after I disassociated myself from my family, was as a statement. A slap in the face to my father, promising without words that I would be a better man than he had ever been. Then . . . the masquerade became so much a part of my life. I enjoyed being a man, racing cars and bikes and having the most beautiful and wonderful girlfriend in the world.   
  
Oh, Michiru knew I was a girl from the very beginning. She met me in her search to find Sailor Uranus, after all, although I'd like to think she would have noticed anyway. That's how perceptive she is. Or perhaps it's just my love for her talking, I don't really know. But my masquerade gave our relationship the semblance of normality to passing strangers, in a world that as a whole merely tolerates relationships like ours–at best.  
  
And now . . . returned to eleven years old, I no longer have anything to prove, haven't really for quite a while. Especially now that I have Michiru's parents, I could care less what mine think. As for our relationship . . . I sincerely doubt that it will become physical for quite a while–we are only eleven after all, even if our minds are those of seventeen-year-olds–and even when it does, Michiru will be happy, *our* parents will be happy, I'll be happy, and I find now that I care even less about what the rest of the world thinks than I used to. And I really do miss the feel of long hair . . . so perhaps I will let it grow out for a while, before I resume the masquerade–if I ever choose to.  
  
* * *  
  
A few weeks later, when my hair had grown long enough to where it was noticeable, when it was obvious I had made no move to cut it and had begun wearing it in a (incredibly short!) ponytail, Michiru just smiled at me. So, you've decided to become a girl again. She stated, and I could see it in her eyes that she was proud of me, for beginning to come out of the shell it had taken me so long to create. Good, now we have to go shopping.   
  
I've never been that much of a girl! I wanted to protest, but the look in her eyes stopped me, and her smile. She doesn't smile like that much anymore, ever since Galaxia. Neither do I, so every smile counts more these days, and if it makes Michiru happy to take me shopping, I won't complain. Besides, I figured out a long time ago that nothing is that bad, as long as she's with me. I've caught myself thinking many times before that if, when I die, I have to choose between a Heaven without her or a Hell by her side, Heaven wouldn't stand a chance. As long as Michiru is with me, nothing can take me down, not permanently.   
  
Not even shopping. Although I think she made that trip especially torturous, as if to test my resolve. Surely going into that many stores isn't actually necessary! But I survived, because she was there with me.  
  
Regardless of my longer hair, I still don't particularly like dresses, and I continue to wear pants most of the time. But every now and then I wear a dress, and she smiles at me, and the feelings of silliness and discomfort are instantly made worth it. Although I think she's finally coming to appreciate the value of pants, since she's decided to see if she can peek into my world, as I am peeking into hers.   
  
I smile more too and, though I doubt I'll ever figure out why, my smiles seem to have a similar effect on her that hers have on me. Just a side effect of loving someone so deeply, so all-encompassingly, that you would do anything for them, and they would do anything for you in return, I suppose.   
  
The reversion to eleven has made me more philosophical and introspective, and although I still enjoy running like nothing else (and can't wait until I can get my hands on a racecar, or at least a motorbike, again), I begin to see the depth to Michiru's music and her art where before I only knew its beauty. I've thought a lot about the past, especially that short time after I met Michiru when it was more than just me–and her. I'd have done anything for our princess, my loyalty to her ran nearly as deeply as my love for Michiru.   
  
We made the wrong decision when we decided to attempt to double-cross Galaxia, I'll admit that freely now. Yet, in doing so we did what we thought was right. That's what sets us apart from the other senshi. The inners and Hotaru and, of course, the princess, they follow their hearts in fighting, secure in the knowledge that they will win because they have goodness and friendship on their sides. A depressingly optimistic view of life, in my opinion, doomed to failure eventually. And yet, although their philosophy of life is so flawed, by following that philosophy they've managed to win every time. Hotaru, I think, sees the flaws as clearly as Michiru and I, but she doesn't put her faith in that philosophy so much as she puts her faith in the princess. And Hotaru has always had more blind faith than either of us combined, we're both too cynical by nature.  
  
Setsuna, I've always thought, is buried in the flows of Time, helpless to interfere with events most of the time. Regardless of the power that accompanies it, I don't think I'd ever be willing or able to take on her job, forced to stand by and watch events pass you by, knowing you could help, yet also knowing that you were forbidden to interfere. She has the hardest time of any of us, yet she is able to present us with that mask of calm that reassures us that everything is alright. I caught her drunk once. I don't think I was supposed to have seen, she had hidden in her room so as to be less likely to be disturbed. She was crying, and the things she said . . . no one can live through that much solitude, millennia of loneliness with only the Gates of Time for company, and remain sane. No one . . . except her.   
  
In accepting Galaxia's offer, Michiru and I did the unthinkable to anyone else on the team. We took our fate into our own hands instead of blindly trusting in our princess, and tried our hardest to destroy her evil ourselves. The only problem–other than the fact that Galaxia had no star seed for us to take and our plan was thus doomed from the start–is that in taking our own fates into our hands, we also took the fates of others. Regardless of what the other senshi think, we never meant for our plan to hurt anyone but ourselves. Thankfully, I don't remember the interlude in which we actually did the deed–it was wiped away by those bracelets, leaving only the memory of tainted power. If I could actually remember the look on poor Hotaru's face when I killed her . . . or maybe it was Setsuna I killed . . . I don't think I would ever be able to live with myself, much less proceed as if life was, more or less, normal.  
  
Pretending that Michiru and her parents fill the hole left in my heart where my bond with the other senshi used to reside; until we snapped that bond as if it were nothing, never realizing until we lost it how wonderful and special that bond had been. Now the situation has been simplified until, once again, it is just Michiru and I, locked away from the rest of the world by the barriers within our own hearts.  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
3. Diagon Alley  
  
This is Diagon Alley. She said proudly, as Michiru and I gazed around in wide-eyed wonder. So much that I had never even thought existed, just waiting for me to walk up to and gaze at. Mother was peering at the list of school supplies we had received, so I felt less guilty just standing there with my chin hanging only a couple of inches above the ground and my eyes as wide as dinner plates.   
  
First cauldrons and the other equipment, then wands, clothing, books, and then we'll just wander to see if there are any pets that catch your eyes. Sound good?  
  
What are we waiting for? Michiru asked, as I brought my chin back into position and nodded fervent agreement.   
  
* * *  
  
I looked at the pewter cauldron with increased respect. Standard size 2 is larger than it sounds. I admitted. We could probably fit most of the rest of the supplies in them.   
  
Mother smiled, her cerulean eyes twinkling. That is the general idea.  
  
What is the telescope for? Michiru asked, pointing to the two that had been paid for and placed (within their cases, of course!) in the cauldron. Her mother laughed.  
  
Astrology of course, what else? She cocked her head. Some astronomy too, but this is a school of magic for the most part, after all.   
  
Do we learn to read crystal balls too? My question, amazing as it may seem, was not completely sarcastic, but her reply still completely floored me.   
  
Goodness no! You don't start Divination until your third year, and even then, it's only an elective.   
  
Can we say, facefault?  
  
* * *  
  
The next place we stopped at, Ollivanders (Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC, you know), was not nearly as impressive. Small, narrow, rather dark and dusty, the room's only decoration a single small chair and shelves and shelves of narrow boxes–there must have been thousands. To solve the chair dilemma in the most expedient way possible, Michiru and I sat on the floor together, leaving the chair for our mother.   
  
Ah. New customers, I see. A soft voice sounded near us. Michiru shifted slightly, the only indication she gave of her startlement. I felt him enter–my contact with the winds, like Michiru's with the sea, had only deepened recently and I had easily sensed the shifting in the air currents indicative of another person entering the room. As I looked up, it seemed for a moment that he was almost disappointed by his failure to scare us, but that expression–if it had even existed at all–quickly disappeared.   
  
He peered nearsightedly at Mother, before nodding. Yes, I remember you. Sachiko Amiru. Cedar, phoenix feather, eight-and-a-third inches. Good wand, that. These your daughters?   
  
So he was sharper-eyed than he gave the appearance of being. In the dim light of the shop, wearing jeans and a baggy T-shirt with my hair tied back in a tight pony-tail, very few people would recognize me as a girl.   
  
She smiled. This is my daughter Michiru and her best friend, Haruka Ten'ou. They're both just beginning at Hogwarts this year.   
  
He nodded, then turned to us. Wand arm?   
  
Mother smiled. Usually your wand arm ends up being your dominant hand. She stage-whispered.   
  
I answered immediately, followed soon after by Michiru's   
  
I see. And I got the idea that he did see, more than many people gave him credit for. You first, girl. He pointed at me and I stood up, at a loss. A silver tape measure, previously sticking ever so slightly out of his pocket, now began measuring me as he got up onto a stool, taking down various boxes. He continued to talk as he took down the boxes. With many young people, especially as young as you kids, it's hard to figure out the dominant characteristics of your personalities, since they are not yet fully formed. One's personality figures greatly in which wand chooses you, and often the wand reflects the person someone will become. Take You-Know-Who. No one knew he would turn out so bad, but his wand–yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Very powerful. And no one can deny that he was powerful. Evil, yes, but one of the most powerful wizards this world has seen in quite a while.  
  
You and your friend, though, your personalities are much more distinctly formed, almost as if you had lived longer than eleven years. Sometimes people who live very eventful lives are like that, as well, but for the most part, personality formation comes only with the passing of years. For you, I know of maybe four, five wands that are nearly guaranteed to be a perfect match, much narrower a selection than I usually have to wade through. Same with your friend, there. Even her mother was harder to pinpoint, about as hard as a normal eleven year old.  
  
After that, he became silent. I got the idea that normally he didn't talk nearly as much normally. Finally, he climbed down, holding three boxes. Couldn't find the other one I was looking for. Pretty good sign that it wasn't a good match, staying hidden like that. Here, give this one a wave. Gingko, eight inches, dragon heartstring. He handed me a wand. No sooner did I touch it than it felt wrong to me, and I shook my head nearly involuntarily as he snatched it away. He looked at me with increased interest in his silvery, moon-like eyes. You look like you have the makings of a good wand seller. Interested in finding a summer job? Stymied, I opened my mouth, and shut it, having absolutely no idea what to say.   
  
He chuckled, another action I had the feeling he did not do very often. Try this one, then. Willow, ten-and-three-quarters inches, unicorn hair. This time, I knew almost as immediately that this was the wand for me and, theatrically, I brought it slicing through the air almost as if it was my Space Sword. A crescent of blue and green sparkles flew out of the wand, like the vacuum blades my Space Sword creates, and impacted harmlessly on the far wall. I grinned, exhilarated by how completely *right* this wand felt, and he nodded approvingly. Yes, I thought the willow would match your personality well. And the unicorn hair . . . you have a very pure heart. I'm not surprised your wand holds the unicorn. Not at all surprised.  
  
Pure heart . . . if I hadn't been holding the wand, still in the feedback cycle of happiness and well-being it induced in me at first, my face would have fallen despite my efforts to remain expressionless. Yes, our hearts were pure . . . pure enough to hold two of the three Talismans. Yet I had a hard time believing that our hearts remained pure. Not after all we have done.   
  
The silver tape measure had begun to measure Michiru as the man took *my* wand (amazing how short a time it took me to become so territorial–no longer was it merely a wand, but now and forever more mine) and placed it gently back into its box before climbing to put up the wand I had rejected out of hand and picking up three others. The first of these three he opened and gave to Michiru. Beechwood, thirteen inches, phoenix feather. He snatched it out of her hands even before the no' in my throat had the time to become a reality, and gave me a glance. Saw that too, didn't you. Yes, you'd definitely make a good assistant, once I've given you a little training.   
  
Dogwood, nine inches, dragon heartstring. This Michiru held a little longer before it was obvious that the wand wasn't the right one for her.   
  
No, dragon doesn't really fit you, does it. and he took the box I had rejected by default. Maple, twelve inches, unicorn hair.  
  
Hm. Almost there. He opened the last box. This one should work, since none of the others did. Silver maple, eleven inches, unicorn hair.   
  
The wand swished through the air, and green sparkles lit the air, floating down around our faces, almost like miniscule fireflies. Michiru, the man and I all spoke at the same time. This was her wand, as obviously hers as the other had been mine.  
  
Do you think I could come work here during the summer? I asked Mother. I felt I had the right to make the decision, but she's the one who would be providing transportation, and she really is almost like a real mother to me. The shop, which had previously seemed so gloomy and closed in, now glittered with a serene mystery, almost as if Michiru's sparkles still hung, half unseen, in the air.   
  
I think, she paused, looking at the man, That we could work something out. If that is what you want to do, I trust you to make the right decision.  
  
A smile lit my face, almost as bright as the one when I first held my wand. Thank you. This is what I want to do. This place–it's magic like I haven't seen in a long time.   
  
If that is what you see, perhaps you do belong here. Michiru's eyes reflected her agreement, slightly puzzled as to what I would find so interesting in this dingy little shop, but I didn't mind too much. This place really was magic, filled with so many possibilities, and I felt rather sorry for the people who, coming in here, only saw the tiny, dimly lit so-called reality.   
  
* * *  
  
Must everything be in black? Michiru complained softly as we stood inside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and I couldn't help but agree. Black is a nice color–though I much prefer a dark navy blue–but enough is enough!   
  
At least it doesn't say the gloves have to be black. I pointed out. And we could get colored sashes or something so that it won't be completely black.   
  
Michiru's mother smiled. Now why didn't I ever think of that when I went to Hogwarts? Having a colored sash would have been ever so much better than just monotonous black, black, and more black, day in and day out.  
  
Michiru and I shared the same thought at all that black, for years on end.   
  
However, the dragonhide gloves came only in the darker colors: black, midnight blue, dark green, burgundy, and a truly nasty blackish yellow. Can you bleach the color out of them, or dye them, or something? I asked.   
  
The young wizard at the counter replied, Dragonhide refuses to hold any dyes, except occasionally some of the darkest shades. I have heard that some people over at the Ministry of Magic are attempting to develop some lighter hued dyes, but so far there has been little success, as far as I know. He grimaced. Except–the one dye they have managed to come up with–a truly horrendous shade of neon pink.   
  
I sighed. So much for adding color to our garb in that category. So I got a pair and a couple of spares in the midnight blue, while Michiru got the dark green.   
  
Of regular cloth, however, there was no shortage of bright hues. Some of them a bit *too* bright for my tastes. They had a whole range of blues and greens, of which we bought a strip of nearly every color (except the olive green . . . ew), plus a nice selection of yellow/golds and grey/silvers, and even a few of the nicer shades of red.   
  
This should make us a bit more noticeable. Michiru commented, and I grinned. Not that I necessarily wanted to be the talk of the school, but sure, why not? We might even start a trend!   
  
* * *  
  
The trip through Flourish and Botts was simple and out of the way quickly, as we each bought a copy of the eight school books necessary according to the list. Plus, on a whim, we bought a book on elemental theory that looked like it held some good information that we could apply to our bonds with the elements–mine with the wind and Michiru's with the sea.   
  
Then we went window shopping. Diagon Alley is filled with so many incredible shops, from candy shops with the strangest types of candy I'd ever seen, to a shop devoted completely to Quidditch, a strange wizarding game similar to soccer, only played in the air with broomsticks. It sounded interesting, and better yet, each of the houses at Hogwarts had their own team. Unfortunately, as first years weren't allowed to bring broomsticks, I sincerely doubted that we would be able to play. A pity, that.   
  
Finally we stumbled upon a smallish shop called the Magical Menagerie, a pet shop by the looks of it. Of course, we went in, since we hadn't chosen our pets yet.   
  
Inside it was smelly and noisy from all the animals stuffed into so small a space. Ravens, large black rats, cats and other birds of all shapes and sizes . . . every inch of the shop seemed fascinating to two small eleven-year-old girls in search of a pet. Since Michiru figured fish wouldn't make very good pets for taking to Hogwarts (although she planned to get a few to put in our room–we both still remembered the wonderful aquarium on the top floor of our apartment building with great fondness) she came with me towards the bird section. I wasn't quite sure I wanted an owl, but I knew I wanted to have a bird of some sort. I've always enjoyed watching them fly and envied them deeply that ability. When I was younger, before I stopped dreaming, I dreamed of flying nearly every night, of seeing the world so small below and reveling in the feeling of the wind. Yet despite that, when we reached the birds I didn't see any that seemed right to me. Michiru, on the other hand, instantly fell in love with a tiny, baby snowy owl.   
  
Then I heard the voice and stiffened, the slight movement beside me indicating that Michiru had hear it too.   
  
Dissgussting. The voice commented, its tone wry and humorous, a very likeable voice with a slight, but not very pronounced lisp. Adult elf owlss are the ssame ssize and they tasste a lot better.   
  
The voice, I realized, seemed to be coming from the hole in a fake log inserted in one of the nearby glass cages. We're not planning on eating it. Michiru replied sarcastically.   
  
A small silver head peeked out of the log, two red eyes regarding us measuringly. I know. It sighed, writhing out until it had wrapped itself around the log several times. A pity that humanss have sso little tasste. The snake was completely silver from its head to the tip of its tail, with eyes that reminded me more of Chibiusa's red-brown than Setsuna's garnet.   
  
I smiled. Who cared if it wasn't a bird? I had just found the perfect pet. Michiru knew what my smile meant, and a look at her eyes showed that she approved. I'm not the only one with a slightly warped sense of humor, after all.  
  
And the snake? Well, it didn't have to talk to us, and the fact that it chose to was a pretty good indication that it agreed as well. Plus, later it told us so. And the bird seemed to understand that the snake wasn't going to eat it, so it too was happy.   
  
Mom seemed to have a few qualms about buying a snake, but she was also inclined to let us make our own decisions. All in all, the trip to Diagon Alley was a stupendous success. Michiru's father, I think, enjoyed the joke a great deal more than her mother. Even gave us a few tips on how to us it to create the maximum amount of mischief possible–it's quite obvious, now, where Michiru got the less serious side of her nature from.   
  
Not that I needed too much help on the topic of creating mischief. After all, it's not like letting a snake loose in a room full of *girls* (as opposed to logical human beings that just happen to have been born female–like Michiru and I) wouldn't provoke plenty of hilarity, all on its own. I must admit, though, that the scenario with the fudgesicle and three paper clips has its own charm . . . perhaps I'll try it out, sometime . . .  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
4. Hogwarts Express  
  
Sachiko looked vaguely embarrassed. I locked my keys in the car. I can get them out fairly easily, but I want to go ahead and do it now, before something can happen. You girls go on ahead to the platform and I'll meet you there before the train leaves, I promise.  
  
Don't worry, Mom. We'll be okay. Michiru reassured her, and we watched her walk away.   
  
Platform nine and three-quarters?! I had taken a look at the tickets she gave us. What sort of platform is that?!   
  
Michiru shrugged and smiled a little. Why don't we go down to platforms nine and ten and, if we don't find nine and three-quarters there, we'll wait for my mom. Or some other people who are going to Hogwarts.   
  
I smiled back. Michiru was right, of course. I would have realized that immediately, once I started thinking again. So we picked up our trunks and put them on a trolley, together with Avarana (Michiru's owl)'s cage and the empty glass aquarium that Keldir (my snake) usually lived in. And off we strode, towards the magical train that waited at an impossible platform.   
  
* * *  
  
When we reached platform nine there was, as we had both suspected and dreaded, no platform between it and ten. So we waited. Keldir grumbled inaudibly about foolish young girls and cloth bags that were too confining, but when Michiru asked him sharply if he had any *useful* suggestions to make, he fell silent. She and I rolled our eyes.   
  
Then the wind tickled my ear. Not so unusual an occurrence, except there shouldn't be any but the lightest, most unobtrusive of air conditioner-made winds in this confined a space, and this wind whispered of magic and large open spaces.   
  
I turned. The barrier remained there, but now, with my full attention turned towards it, I could sense an area where the air currents indicated, not a barrier, but a doorway. As I watched, and Michiru turned to watch too, a short, rather scrawny black-haired boy rushed towards the barrier, with the body language of one who fully expects to get hurt and . . . disappeared.   
  
It's not a barrier at all! It's just an illusion! Michiru gasped, eyes wide as my own. With this stunning revelation, we too headed towards the barrier, or rather, the illusion of the barrier, and through the wall-that-was-not-a-wall, into a new area, crowded with people and, on the tracks, a scarlet steam engine with a sign overhead that said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Owls and cats and all sorts of other animals drifted in and out through the crowd–I think I saw a tarantula too, at one point. All in all, it was even more crowded and chaotic than the regular station. Since we had plenty of time, Michiru and I drifted back to the entrance, after stowing our stuff in an empty compartment, where we'd be more likely to spot her mother when she came through.   
  
Then a loud noise caught our attention and we turned to see someone, complete with a trunk and a grey cat, sprawled on the floor, as if they had been dropped from three or four feet up. No one else seemed to notice, though, as Michiru and I rushed over. I suppose real witches and wizards were used to people popping up out of nowhere.   
  
The girl looked to be the same age as us with softly pink hair tied up in a ponytail high on her head and simple gold hoops in both ears. I picked up her cat to return it to her, as Michiru was helping her up, but then I saw the cat's forehead. A gold crescent moon. My eyes widened. Diana had been just a kitten, all legs and ears, the last time I had seen her. Then, I took a closer look at–was it Diana?–the cat's owner. Most definitely pink hair and red-brown eyes–a color that had always reminded me, rather incongruously, of dried blood. But . . . what had happened to her odangos?  
  
Do I know you? She asked me, rather uncertainly, cocking her head ever so slightly in a gesture that was inherently, beyond any doubt in my mind, Chibiusa.   
  
Her brows lowered and her eyes reflected her confusion as she looked at me. I'm not that surprised she didn't recognize me . . . after all, I was the same age as her and had long hair. Then she turned her attention to Michiru who, despite her smaller stature, had not changed all that much, and recognition finally dawned. Aunt Michiru? She turned back to me. And Aunt Haruka?! But you're the same age as me! What happened?!  
  
We're all eleven now. Michiru informed the girl softly.  
  
Did the enemy zap you? Who is our current enemy, anyway? All Puu told me was that I should get on this train, she gestured towards the scarlet Hogwarts Express, because evidently something fairly earth-shattering is supposed to happen soon, and she wanted me out of the way, safely back in the past, and told me the train would take me someplace magically protected against whatever repercussions might result. Just where are we, anyway?  
  
No, no one at present that I know of, and England. We're going on that train also. I answered. We think we all became eleven because of some quirk of the Ginzuishou when we were revived after the final battle with Galaxia.   
  
Her eyebrows twitched. Don't tell me. Everyone died, again, except my mom, who ended up saving the world, again, through nothing but strength of heart and pure dumb luck.  
  
Michiru and I shared small, twisted, half-smiles. You could almost say that. Michiru admitted.   
  
Although we certainly didn't help matters much. I added.   
  
Chibiusa crossed her arms, and with the imperiousness of a queen, ordered, You are going to show me where you put your stuff, I'll put mine with it, and then you will tell me the entire story.   
  
Doubtful glances that she caught, and her eyes narrowed. And don't you dare leave anything out!  
  
Michiru, Haruka, would you introduce me to your new friend? A new voice interrupted, and we three turned as one to see that Mom had snuck up behind us while we were concentrating on our conversation with Chibiusa.  
  
This is Chibiusa, Usagi's daughter. Michiru stated calmly. Chibiusa, this is my mother.   
  
She took the statement rather calmly, considering. The only comment she made, with a solemn face, was, Amazing that Usagi found time to have a daughter the same age as her. But then, she smiled, eyes twinkling. You're from the future, I assume. I remember you from that time a few months ago, although you were significantly younger, I think. Welcome back.   
  
Chibiusa was floored. Uh . . . yeah. Thanks. She said shakily. Do you . . . know?  
  
Now why does that sound familiar? She mused, as her eyes slid towards me and I blushed slightly. That you're a sailor senshi too, I presume? Sailor Chibimoon, if I remember correctly. She clapped her hands. Now, I believe you said something about moving baggage? Just show me where.   
  
* * *  
  
Back on the train, Mom put down Chibiusa's baggage in the same compartment as ours, which now held another person, the small black-haired boy with glasses that we had seen dashing at the barrier earlier. With a hug for each of us, even Chibiusa, Mom left us–only minutes were left before the train was scheduled to leave. Michiru and I sat on the seat opposite the boy and Chibiusa sat on the window seat, pulling her legs up to sit crosslegged, before fixing us with a hard eye. Now. The story? She demanded.   
  
Michiru and I sighed as one and then, slowly, haltingly, began the tale–leaving, as she had told us to, absolutely nothing out.   
  
* * *  
  
The boy sat and watched the red-haired family sadly. He wished he had a family like that, with plenty of other siblings and a mother that wiped his nose and embarrassed him in front of a crowd of hundreds of people. He sighed.   
  
Then, a family entered his compartment, chattering merrily in some other language. The oldest one, obviously a parent, put down some bags and hugged the other three, a girl of which had the exact same wavy aqua hair as the mother, a boy (or was he a girl? He thought the other was a boy, but . . .) with blonde hair a little past his shoulders, tied back simply with a black scruchee, and another girl, who seemed rather uncomfortable at the attention, with pink hair in a pony-tail high on her head.   
  
They sat down and the pink-haired girl glared at the other two and uttered a short sentence sternly, still in that other language. The other two sighed and began, haltingly, to talk, interrupted at times by the pink-haired girl. He caught several words that sounded rather like names–Usagi', Seiya', Mamoru', (which, in particular, was said by the pink-haired girl rather often), and others. A short time into the story–as that's what he believed it was–another boy came in, the youngest redheaded boy from the other family, seemingly dismayed by the number of people already in the compartment. Anyone sitting here? He asked, pointing to the seat beside Harry. Everywhere else is full.   
  
Harry shook his head silently, aware that the other three had also fallen silent, for the moment, before the aqua-haired girl picked up the line of the tale again. And the boy still had a black spot on his nose.   
  
* * *  
  
. . . And then we were all eleven years old, and the others left to go to their own homes. Michiru concluded. I suppose you hate us now, like the rest of them.   
  
Chibiusa shook her head. Of course I don't! I mean, I think you were just a bit too paranoid about Seiya and the other Starlights, but as for going over to Galaxia's side . . . you can't convince me that you meant, beforehand, to kill the other two as proof of your loyalty or anything like that. It sounds to me like the bracelets took control, something that you couldn't have foreseen happening.   
  
I admitted reluctantly. But we still did it. Even if we had the best motives on earth, we shouldn't have betrayed Usagi like that.   
  
Chibiusa snorted. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother a whole lot, but in your place, I doubt I would have blindly trusted her either. I probably would have done exactly the same thing as you. She grimaced. And felt guilty as hell afterwards, too, but that's beside the point. The others should have realized that you made an honest mistake and events ran out of your control, *not* completely ostracized you like that. I wouldn't blame you for hating them right back, although I know you don't.   
  
It was our fault. It was our hands that did it. Michiru remained adamant, and I remained fully in agreement with her.  
  
Besides, I don't think we were really made for teamwork. I remarked. Even when we were part of the team, we weren't really part of the *team*, just extras who popped in when there was trouble, or to cause trouble, more often than not. We do better when it's just the two of us.   
  
Make that three. Chibiusa stated firmly, so firmly my protests died unspoken. You are still my friends and my beloved aunts, and I'm not going to let anyone, even my wonderful bubble-headed mother, destroy that.   
  
There was a knock on the door and a short, rather pudgy boy entered, asking tearfully, Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all? All five of us–Michiru, Chibiusa, the black-haired boy, a tall red-haired boy who had entered the compartment and sat down around the time Sailor Iron Mouse died, and I–shook our heads, and he wailed, I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!  
  
Don't worry. Chibiusa reassured him. He'll turn up. She stood. Do you want me to help you look for him?   
  
The pudgy boy sniffed and nodded, smiling rather tearfully. Thank you! My name's Neville Longbottom. What's yours? He left with Chibiusa, and Michiru and I turned our attention to the two boys in the compartment.   
  
Both looked rather nervous at our sudden appraisal. Uh . . . hi! I'm Harry Potter. The black-haired boy finally stammered.   
  
Ron Weasly. The red-haired boy offered shyly.   
  
Haruka Ten'ou. I smiled, trying to put the poor kids a little more at ease.   
  
Michiru Kaiou. Michiru's smile was, as always, brilliant. And our friend, the one who just left, is Usagi Chiba.  
  
Nice to meet you. The red-haired boy–Ron, said, then his curiosity overcame him. Where are you from? I heard you talking in that strange language, and I couldn't understand a word of it!   
  
We're from Japan. Michiru told him gently. I'm sorry we were excluding you like that, my Michiru is nothing if not polite, but it really was a rather personal matter.   
  
Aw, that's all right. Ron's face was nearly as red as his hair, and he looked as if he wanted to stare at his shoes. I wasn't trying to pry, I was just curious, about what language that was and all. He turned toward the black-haired boy–Harry, I reminded myself. Did you hear about Gringotts? Someone tried to rob a high security vault. Gringotts, I remembered, was the wizard bank.   
  
What happened to them? Harry asked.  
  
Nothing, that's why it's such big news. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens, because they're so scared that You-Know-Who is behind it.   
  
I asked.   
  
Ron replied, a singularly unhelpful answer.  
  
The term sparked a memory, but I couldn't quite catch it, until . . . I turned to Michiru. Didn't Mr. Ollivander say something about You-Know-Who being an incredibly powerful Dark wizard? I turned back to Ron. Is that the You-Know-Who that you're talking about?   
  
Of course! What other You-Know-Whos are there? Ron seemed frustrated.   
  
How would I know if that was the You-Know-Who you were talking about. For all I know, there are hundreds of You-Know-Whos running around, especially since I *still* don't know who You-Know-Who is. I too was beginning to get slightly frustrated.   
  
You-Know-Who is Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard this world has seen in quite a while. A new voice said softly. I noticed that Ron turned pale and winced when the name–Voldemort–was mentioned. The voice belonged to yet another young boy standing at the entrance to our compartment, a pale boy with white-blonde hair and silver eyes. Flanking him were two others, large heavyset boys that looked mean and incredibly stupid. I had no doubts that, even in this eleven-year-old body, I could take them on. At the same time.   
  
But the pale boy had turned his attention to Harry. Is it true? He asked. They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?   
  
Harry answered, a resigned look on his face. I recognized that look, having worn it and seen it on Michiru's face many times before. The I'm-famous-but-I-really-couldn't-care-less,-because-it's-not-like-I've-done-anything-*that*-important look. I wondered, idly, why he was so famous. He looked rather young to have made a name for himself in racing, or in just about anything, really.   
  
Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle. The pale boy said, pointing to his two . . . they couldn't be anything but bodyguards, and my initially, tentatively, rather high opinion of him sunk lower. And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. He said it as if it was supposed to mean something. Probably a spoiled rich kid.   
  
Ron coughed slightly, and it was obvious he was trying not to grin. Draco glared. Think my name's funny, do you? That much, my dear boy, was obvious. No need to ask who you are. My father told me, yes, he seemed the type to believe everything his father told him if it was derogatory to others, all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and there are far too many of them.   
  
He turned his attention back to Harry and, in an incredibly snooty tone of voice, said You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there. He held out a hand, but Harry stared at it like it was a very despicable species of insect, and I didn't blame him.   
  
What about non-wizarding families? I asked, at my most venomously sweet (although generally, I leave that tone to Michiru–she's better at it).  
  
Hogwarts should only be for the old wizarding families. He answered promptly. The other sort just shouldn't be let in. Imagine, some of them never even heard of Hogwarts until they got the letter!   
  
Yes, imagine that. Michiru said dryly. The compartment began to bear a distinct resemblance to the Sahara desert.   
  
I smiled inwardly, evilly. You know what happens, I commented idly to Michiru, when a gene pool gets too small–keeping the blood pure and all that?   
  
Of course! She answered promptly, eyes wide and innocent-seeming. Inbreeding. Deformities and often a larger number than normal of morons. Probably at least one per generation. Actually probably not, but hey–if it made the story sound better, why not exaggerate a bit?  
  
I smiled ever so sweetly at Draco. I guess the rest of your generation is safe, then.   
  
Ron couldn't hide his laugh at that, and even Harry was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile, while Draco looked murderous. He turned to Harry, after continuing to glare at me (score! Haruka: 1, Draco: zilch). I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. He said slowly. You hang around riffraff like the Weasleys, Hagrid, and this filth, he gestured towards me, while I just grinned genially back, and it'll rub off on you.   
  
Both Harry and Ron stood up and, not to be upstaged, I did too. Is this experience speaking? I asked. How many of your friends have you contaminated, my dear boy? Or do you even have friends, other than these two goons? (score again! Draco was, again, reduced to speechlessness. Haruka: 2, Draco: still nothing, unsurprisingly).  
  
Say that again. Ron growled. Geez, the boy needed to lighten up a little bit. But then again . . . it's not like I have a family that's being insulted. And if he had insulted Michiru's parents, I *would* have been a great deal angrier.   
  
Oh, you're going to fight us, are you? Draco sneered.   
  
I laughed. Draco, I could take all three of you, alone. Michiru probably could too, at that. You don't stand a chance. Goyle stepped forward menacingly, probably determined to prove me wrong.   
  
At least, I assume he was supposed to look menacing. Until he tripped over Michiru's foot, which she had stuck out into the middle of the aisle–probably just stretching, right? *cough, cough* And as he toppled towards me, I forgot to do the gentlemanly thing and catch him, so he landed on his face. Poor, poor Goyle.   
  
Then, to make matters worse (for them) Ron's fat, ugly, old rat bit Goyle on the finger and he was howling, swinging the poor thing every which way, until it finally flew off and hit the window. The three were, quite obviously, routed in a major way.   
  
Seconds after they left, Chibiusa returned, along with another girl with lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, who Chibiusa introduced as Hermione Granger. Chibiusa took one look at the carnage–Harry and Ron's candy all over the floor, Hermione picking the rat up by the tail–and turned to me. Did you have fun, Haruka? She asked. As if it had been all my idea! Really! Well . . . I had sort of provoked Draco, and let Goyle fall . . . but it was Michiru who tripped him! She laughed. Too bad I wasn't here. Looks like I would have enjoyed it, too. And she probably would have.   
  
Any particular reason you returned? Michiru asked. Or did you just miss us? She added teasingly.   
  
Chibiusa snapped her fingers. That's right! I almost forgot–Hermione and I talked to the conductor, and he said we'd be arriving soon. She bounced over to her trunk, opened it, and started digging. So we need to put our robes on, soon. She lowered her voice. And I just thought you should know, I saw *them* here, although they didn't recognize me.  
  
Would you mind leaving while we change? Ron was scowling at Hermione. Another side conversation I missed out on, I suppose.   
  
All right– Hermione said in a huffy voice. She looked like she was refraining from scowling right back only through sheer good manners. And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know? She threw over her shoulder as we left, Ron still glaring at Hermione.   
  
* * *  
  
We soon finished changing into those silly black robes–and tying on scarfs, we even had a pink one for Chibiusa, who really liked the idea of alleviating that black somewhat, but Hermione politely refused when we offered her one. Too much of a rule-follower, I guess–she reminded me, in some ways, of Ami–I wondered if Hermione took her studies nearly as seriously. Right afterwards, a voice echoed throughout the train: We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.   
  
I went back and grabbed my wand–there wasn't *any* way I was going to leave it on the train–before heading into the corridor and down onto a tiny, dark platform. Funny, it didn't seem like it should be night yet. And then there was a loud voice, coming from an equally large man with a pink umbrella, Firs' years! Firs' years over here!  
  
We followed the man–Hagrid–up a steep, narrow path. And then, we saw it. Hogwarts.  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
5. Hogwarts  
  
The giant man raised his fist and knocked three times on the castle door. Almost as if someone had been waiting for this very event to occur (who knows, maybe they had been) the door immediately swung open. A tall, black-haired witch with a stern face (it reminded me, incongruously, of the look on Galaxia's face when she punished her Animamates–bad thought! Down!) and emerald-green robes stood there. Michiru and I exchanged glances, and I knew the same thought was going through her mind as was running through mine–No fair! Why did she get to wear colored robes?  
  
The firs' years, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid told the lady with the wonderful taste in colors–second only to blue and yellow, green *is* my favorite color, after all. I wondered about Hagrid, though. Did he have a speech impediment, or was that just a textbook example of an *appalling* accent? I sincerely doubted he talked that way because he was stupid.   
  
Thank you, Hagrid. Her voice was like her face–stern and unyielding, like trying to relate to a brick wall. Reminded me of a second grade teacher I had once . . . I will take them from here. And I will not use any conjunctions while doing so.  
  
She pulled the door wide open. The entrance hall was huge, but much less spectacularly decorated than the ballrooms at the Moon Palace, back during the Silver Millennium when they had still existed. Chibiusa admitted grudgingly from my other side. Not nearly as well decorated as the ones in the Crystal Palace, though.   
  
Michiru and I laughed softly. I was thinking exactly the same thing, only about the ones in the Moon Palace. Michiru replied, and I nodded agreement. The professor led us through the entrance hall and we were shown into a small, empty chamber off the hall. Rather smaller than comfortable, with the number of people being squashed in there, but as look as I was only uncomfortably close to people I knew, I didn't mind too much.   
  
Welcome to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall (and how I coveted that beautiful green robe . . . *sniff!*) stated. This, I was given to conjecture, would be our welcoming speech, getting us ready for whatever happened next. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because . . . Snore. My eyes began to glaze over as she seemed to keep on talking. Sternly, I called myself back to attention (all right! Michiru pinched me, if you really have to know. *pout* It hurt, too!) . . . The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. Great. Have I ever mentioned the fact that I occasionally get stage fright? Especially when the event is very important, in front of a large number of people, and I'm given time to anticipate it?   
  
Did I miss anything important? I whispered to Michiru as the professor left. She rolled her eyes at me.   
  
Not really. Our houses are our family that we do everything with, all the houses are noble and wonderful and we should be proud to be in any of them. She talked a little about house points, and the house cup, but nothing Mom hadn't already told us.   
  
Then ghosts drifted out the walls, arguing with each other about someone called Peeves. Another ghost, I suppose. But they seemed harmless, so Michiru, Chibiusa, and I ignored them. Finally, the professor returned to call us into the hall. The Great Hall, it couldn't possibly be anything else. It was even larger than the entrance hall, lit by floating candles, hanging over the five tables set up in the room–one for each house and a separate one for the teachers, I guessed. The ghosts hung out in here, too.   
  
Professor McGonagall set a short four-legged stool in front of the crowd of first years–we really were a crowd, too–and onto the stool she set an old, battered hat that positively reeked of magic.   
  
The hat twitched. A tear in its brim opened wide, an absurd parody of a mouth, as the hat began to sing. It really did sing! Honestly! An interesting little song, too.   
  
It called itself the Sorting Hat, and bragged about how great it was for a while (and in fairly decent rhyme, too! That's the amazing part to me) before singing a short description of each house.   
  
Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. I wondered where Michiru and I would end up. I didn't feel particularly brave, loyal, intelligent or cunning. What if the hat refused to choose a house for me, deeming me unfit for entrance into Hogwarts? The song finished and the roar of applause yanked me from my dark thoughts, momentarily confusing me before I regained my bearings.   
  
Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment and began reading off names. Aino, Minako! was one of the first she called, and I watched as the blonde walked calmly up to the stool, seemingly engulfed in black robes that seemed a bit too large for her. I wondered how the normally incredibly boy-crazy girl was dealing with returning to such a young age, but there's more to Minako than just her boy-crazy aspect. Perhaps, even, growing up again would help her to grow out of that phase. Minako went to Gryffindor, and that table cheered loudly.   
  
Others were called, none that I knew, then Mamoru was called up. I wondered where he would be put, but I didn't have long to wait. The doctor-to-be became a Ravenclaw. Directly after him came Chibiusa–hearing her called Chiba Usagi made me look around and wonder if Usagi and Mamoru had finally tied the knot, no matter that Michiru had called her Usagi only hours before on the train, I still never thought of her as anything but Chibiusa. Our Small Lady in odangos, except she didn't have the odangos anymore and she wasn't particularly small anymore, either. Relatively speaking. Chibiusa was placed in Slytherin. That table cheered some, but not nearly as much as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had previously.   
  
Hermione, Chibiusa's acquaintance from the train, went to Gryffindor, and Rei went to Hufflepuff. Strange–although perhaps the hat had pegged her correctly as the most loyal of the princess' senshi. Then it was Michiru's turn.   
  
I squeezed her hand tightly, a last reassurance, before she moved forward, placing the hat on her head and sitting on the stool. Tension thrummed throughout my body as I waited with bated breath for where she would be placed. I caught sight of Usagi quite conspicuously ignoring her, Mamoru staring through her as if there was nothing there, and Rei just plain glaring. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to me, the hat yelled and Michiru was released, to go take a seat near Chibiusa–and save one for me.  
  
Makoto also went to Hufflepuff–another remarkably apt conjecture on the part of the hat. Jupiter, the strongest of the inner senshi, had always been one of the most loyal and protective, as well. Neville, the pudgy boy from the train who had lost his toad, was also sent to Gryffindor.  
  
Unfortunately, from my view, Draco ended up in Slytherin. Which meant we'd have to put up with him constantly. Not my idea of a fun time. But then again, he didn't strike me as particularly brave, loyal, or intelligent, so perhaps Slytherin was the only house willing to take him. Setsuna looked as majestic and calm as ever, even if she was only a little over half her usual height, facing the Sorting Hat with the same aplomb with which she had faced thousands of youma and millions of years. In many ways, she's the most loyal of us all–loyal to a higher cause than an individual sovereign–so it was again no real surprise to me when she was placed in Hufflepuff. Well, perhaps a surprise, but I could also see the logic to that decision.  
  
Ami, the brains of the senshi, was sent to Ravenclaw, without more than a moment's consideration on the part of the Sorting Hat. Harry went to Gryffindor. An uproar commenced when his name was announced, people saying things like, *Potter*, did she say? and *The* Harry Potter? The Gryffindor table positively erupted when the Sorting Hat made its announcement, yelling We got Potter! We got Potter! I wondered again, what the rather scrawny black-haired boy had done to make him so well-known and well-loved in the wizarding community.   
  
Then, far too soon, it was my turn. I sucked in all my courage and walked forward, placing the Sorting Hat firmly on my head and waiting for *something* to happen. A small voice began whispering in my ear. And where should I send you? It asked softly. You'd do well just about anywhere.   
  
Slytherin. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind, whatsoever, as to where I wanted to go. Normally, I'd have had no opinion, but . . . it's fairly easy to understand the way my mind works, in these sorts of situations . . . Michiru was in Slytherin, and I wasn't about to let her face any house–let alone that one, which seemed to attract all the undesireables–alone if I could help it.   
  
Hm. Yes, that is an acceptable choice. Although I certainly don't get many genuinely true and pure-hearted people who *want* to be a part of Slytherin . . . the quality of Slytherin really has degraded. You'd probably do best in Gryffindor, though.   
  
I thought of having to constantly live with Usagi and Minako's contempt, and shuddered.   
  
No? Well, if you're really sure . . . perhaps it will be a good thing after all . . . I guess, then, that you'll go to SLYTHERIN! The last word echoed loudly, and I knew the whole room had heard it, and that they had not heard the rest of the conversation. I took off the hat, laid it deliberately and gently on the stool, and walked over to the Slytherin table, where Draco was glaring daggers at me.   
  
*His* enmity I didn't mind. It was actually rather refreshing to have nothing more than a normal human being after my blood, instead of evil energy-sucking, heart crystal-/dream mirror-/star seed-stealing youma. Not to mention their masters . . . I took a seat beside Michiru and some other, nameless boy and turned to watch the rest of the show.   
  
Little Hotaru-chan, who wasn't so little anymore, became a new Ravenclaw, and I watched Ami and Mamoru welcoming her to the table with a certain (large!) amount of envy. Usagi, who was down on the lists as Tsukino, Serenity! became a Gryffindor, as did the red-headed boy, Ron, that we had sat across from on the train.  
  
Ron, his last name being Weasley, was one of the last people called. He too, like all the people we had met on the train (with the exception of Draco), became a new Gryffindor, and I noticed he was enthusiastically welcomed to the Gryffindor table by two other redheads–his brothers?  
  
Then, after a short speech that made absolutely no sense (and I don't think it was really supposed to), courtesy of Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, food appeared on the previously empty golden plates. The benefits of magic? Michiru murmured as we dug in.   
  
I looked around. There were probably at least three hundred people in the room. Easier than trying to feed everyone by hand.   
  
Lots of food. Far too much–by the time the desert was cleared away, I felt three feet wide, and I'm sure Michiru felt at least as large–probably larger, she tends to worry about her weight more than I do, though neither of us worries much, since we both have insanely high metabolisms. All we senshi do, I think . . . I'm sure Usagi does–the girl eats like a *herd* of horses!  
  
Then Professor Dumbledore stood again. As a note to all first-years–as well as certain others of our student body, he *looked* at the two redheads that had so enthusiastically welcomed Ron to the Gryffindor table, The forest on the grounds is still forbidden to all pupils. And as a general warning–no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Leave that for *during* class.  
  
Quidditch trials will be held the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing should contact Madam Hooch.  
  
Lastly, the third-floor corridor on the right side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. A few people laughed, but the three of us didn't. Spending practically all seventeen years of my (eleven-year-old . . .) life observing people makes it fairly obvious when someone is deadly serious, and he was. And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! He cried, an effort to lighten the atmosphere (although the rest of the teachers didn't seem too fond of the idea . . .) Everyone pick their favorite tune, ?? I'm not even going to ask . . . and off we go!  
  
Everyone sang the same words–even we first-years could sing it, since the words appeared from the wand he held high in the air, but widely different tunes. Complete musical chaos that had Setsuna (poor girl . . . with a perfect ear, perfect pitch, and a distinct dislike for most genres of music) wincing in acute pain.   
  
Chibiusa sang to the tune of an old American pop song, Yellow Polka-dot Bikini (I don't want to know. I really do *not* want to know). Michiru and I, after picking up the strains of a funeral march coming from the Gryffindor table, retaliated with one of our violin/piano duets, one of the very slowest. One that, incidentally, harmonized rather well with the funeral march, too.   
  
Once everyone else finished, we could see the singers of the funeral march–those two redheads again. And, try as they might, they were unable to stretch the funeral march quite long enough–leaving us the last to stop singing. *smirk* Dumbledore conducted our last few lines–although he seemed rather surprised at who he was left conducting–and then shooed us off to bed.   
  
As we pushed our way out through the crowds towards the Great Hall–keeping an eye on our prefect, who we were supposed to be following, we ran into those two.   
  
Good singing. One congratulated us. Up close, it was obvious they were twins. No one's managed to out-sing us since we first started coming here.   
  
What was that piece you were singing? The other interrupted.   
  
A duet for the violin and piano that I composed. Michiru replied.   
  
I smiled. Even in the shorter version, that song is over seven minutes long.   
  
The first shook his head. I hope you aren't into the business of practical jokes, too, or we'd be out of business. I'm Fred Weasley, and this is my brother George.  
  
Don't listen to him. I'm Fred, he's George. The other stated.   
  
I'm Haruka Ten'ou, and this is my best friend Michiru Kaiou. I returned. You must be Ron's brothers, right? Then I noticed our prefect was almost out of sight. Oops! Gotta run! Talk to you later, 'k? And run we did.   
  
* * *  
  
Our trunks, I was glad to see, had already been brought up to our rooms. Or rather, room, singular. All six Slytherin first-year girls were put in one room, with six *large* four-poster beds with lovely dark emerald green hangings.   
  
Six? Yes, there was Michiru, Chibiusa, and I, a rather chubby and mean-looking girl named Millicent Bulstrode (think female version of Crabbe or Goyle), a rather hard-faced girl named Pansy Parkinson (talk about names that don't fit a person's personality), and a German girl with short blue-black hair, Lindsey, whose last name I didn't quite catch and certainly doubt I could pronounce correctly.   
  
So the six of us unpacked our trunks, got our pajamas on, and fell into our respective beds. Michiru and I slept in separate beds–we decided that we'd refrain from pushing our roommates' tolerance for the first few nights before we returned to sleeping in the same bed (And sleeping is *all* we'd do! READER NO BAKA HENTAI! *THWAP!*).   
  
Before we went to sleep, though, we locked eyes from our respective beds, and I could see the same thoughts in her eyes as were in mine, no doubt. Today had been a very interesting start to what promised to be an interesting, eventful, and all around fun seven years.   
  
As I rolled over to go to sleep, I thought of the twin Weasley brothers and their penchant for practical jokes–perhaps I'd lend them Keldir sometime, if he was amenable. I thought of Chibiusa and how different she seemed from the last time I saw her, only months ago to me, yet years to her.   
  
I thought of bashing Draco more, and a smile lit up my face. He was so *easy* to provoke, after all. And I thought of Michiru, as I always do, and slept.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
6. The First Day  
  
I woke up, my first morning at Hogwarts, in a very inauspicious way. A bucket of water dumped itself on me, before running down the hall, giggling. While wringing myself out, I discoursed at length with the air on just what exactly I was going to do to Draco Malfoy once I got my hands on him, in Japanese and English (and a little pidgin German, just so that Lindsey wouldn't feel too left out), in words that no good little eleven-year-old girl should know, much less say.   
  
Jolly good idea, old chap. Keldir interrupted at one point, and I paused long enough to suggest that he could be my guest if he wished to help. I'm sorry (well, I'm really not, but you know what I mean . . .), but that overly exaggerated English accent he adopted at times was really beginning to get on my nerves. Of course, I think that's a large part of why he does it.   
  
Michiru, of course, was highly amused by my little display of temper, and I think Chibiusa enjoyed it a great deal too. I turned to her, Chibiusa I mean, afterwards, and informed her that I thought she had been hanging out with us a great deal too much in the future, for her sense of humor to have deteriorated so badly. She just grinned and replied that she had always been that way, and the three of us laughed.   
  
At breakfast, served in the Great Hall as supper had been, the mail arrived. By owl, of course, although I can't say I expected the hundreds of owls to flood in that first morning like they did.   
  
Our first class that morning was taught by a old ghost named Professor Binns who, according to rumor, had gotten up one morning to teach and left his body behind, never even noticing that he had died in the mean time. I wasn't sure I believed it, though. He may have droned on and on about old stuff no one cared about (at least, no one in our class), but I think he noticed more than he let on.   
  
It could have been just my imagination, though, lethargy brought on by his monotonous voice. Even Michiru sat there and idly doodled on a sheet of notebook paper, in between the reams of notes we both took absentmindedly. Then, looking at the age of the people involved in the events he was currently discussing, I had a thought that refused to wander back into the grey fog the rest of my mind was engaged in.   
  
Especially when I took a closer look at the names of some of the people and places involved. Lantisa–it was close enough, I thought . . . And ancient Greek and Roman witches and wizards–Theina, who was well known for her wisdom; Ertimas, who loved hunting and Transfiguration spells (a little *too* much . . .); others that were so close to ancient mythological figures that we had studied in school. I wrote a little note to Michiru (Look at the names! Talk to you after class), who had noticed with alarm my increased wakefulness (probably figuring I had felt something *really* awful coming, to make me wake up in this class) and made it into a paper airplane that I tossed in her direction.   
  
Her eyes twinkled at my method of sending a message, and Professor Binns' eyes tracked its progress, I swear! Just goes to show that I was right, he was more aware of the class that he made out to be. And as she read my note, and glanced back through her notes, I could see her making the same conjectures I had. Even these new thoughts, though, were only barely enough to keep me from succumbing to sleep again, induced by the terrible monotony of his voice.   
  
Even Draco, who I'd think would stay awake if only for the joy of sneering at everyone else, had fallen into a stupor along with the rest of the class. One which, however, was quickly dispelled when we were dismissed from class. The class rushed out the door as one, and it seemed to me that Professor Binns had a slightly pensive look on his face, as if he had expected that reaction but didn't particularly enjoy it. I'd make the professor my pet project, I decided, and try and see if I couldn't break him out of that monotony and make the class more enjoyable for everyone.   
  
* * *  
  
Transfiguration was more fun, although Professor McGonagall gave the subtle impression that she didn't like Slytherin very much. I learned why later–she's the head of Gryffindor, which had always been something along the lines of the hereditary enemy of Slytherin. Like an old blood feud, the Gryffindor-Slytherin ill feelings had been going on for a long time, and showed no sign of decreasing in strength.   
  
Also, she's just not one to cross in general. She told us, point blank, first thing, that anyone messing around in her class would be dismissed from her class permanently. We took a *lot* of notes here too, complicated definitions and tips to Transfiguration, along with a long list of things *not* to do, before we were set loose on our first assignment–to turn a match into a needle. Michiru, Chibiusa, and I shoved our desks into a rough triangle, with my notes and Michiru's spread across our desks and Chibiusa's copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration opened to the introduction.   
  
By the end of the lesson, Chibiusa could turn hers a very nice silver, Michiru's was pointed (with an eye on one end, even) but still wood, and I had managed to eliminate all traces of the of the match–the part actually used to light it. We all felt we had done a pretty good job for our first times, and that we could master it within a fairly short period of time. We had gotten further, even taken individually, than any of the others in the class, although Lindsey's match was silvery (if not pure silver, like Chibiusa's) and somewhat pointed (although she forgot the eye of the needle, and the head was still there).   
  
* * *  
  
That was it for the day, as far as classes were concerned. Of course, both Professor Binns and Professor McGonagall had given us far too much homework. We had a paper to write for Binns and another, shorter one for McGonagall–neither were due until the next Tuesday, but if every teacher was like that, we'd have problems keeping up with our work if we let it all slide until the last minute.   
  
So Chibiusa, Michiru, Lindsey and I went to the library, checked out a bunch of books–whatever we thought we'd be likely to need–and beat it to the balcony, where we'd be studying the stars and planets that evening. Lindsey was a spur-of-the-moment addition, as she came with us when she figured out we were going somewhere other than the Slytherin common room, which she found as gloomy and depressing–not to mention badly lit–as we did.   
  
I can't say that a whole lot of work got done, although some did. We sat and talked, for the most part. You three seem like such good friends. Lindsey sighed, at one point. I mean, you act like you've known each other forever.   
  
Chibiusa smiled. That's because it seems like we have. Besides, I'm the only friend Michiru and Haruka have left, and because of my choice to associate with them, they're probably my only friends left, too. We've fought together– She glanced at the two of us, eyes brilliant with laughter, Even if it didn't always seem that way. We've just gone through so much together, it would be practically impossible for us not to like each other.   
  
Either that, or become deadly enemies. Michiru added gloomily.   
  
I sighed. Why did *they* have to come here too, anyway? I asked the page I was currently pretending to read, a small section on the exploits of Ertimas and her brother which I would normally have found fascinating.  
  
Lindsey did not, to my surprise and relief, pursue exactly who were. Instead, she grimaced, shutting her book with a slam and a sound of annoyed frustration. My parents are going to be so furious, I know it. She stared morosely at the cover of the book, her copy of A History of Magic. My father wanted to send me to Durmstrang–it's in Belgium, so it's closer to home, and I'm a pure-blood, so they would have let me enter. But Mom insisted I come here, where she had gone to school. She was so sure I'd get into one of the good houses–that's defined as all of them except Slytherin–and now she'll be crushed, and my dad will start roaring about how they *should* have sent me to Durmstrang after all.  
  
Don't worry too much. Michiru said cheerfully. I'm sure Slytherin's reputation is over-rated. Surely there are *some* good people that get put in Slytherin.   
  
I don't know. I remembered. The Sorting Hat said that Slytherin's quality had really degraded, and that not many good people actually wanted to be put into Slytherin.   
  
The hat talked to you?! A chorus of three asked incredulously.   
  
I smiled. Probably because it thought I should go to Gryffindor, but I insisted on being put in Slytherin. I had the poor thing rather confused, more than likely.  
  
Michiru knew right away why. She admonished me. You shouldn't have gotten stuck in Slytherin too, although I suppose it's to be expected.   
  
I didn't do it just for you, I replied, putting my hand over hers and squeezing it reassuringly. Though I must admit, it was a rather large part of my decision. Can you imagine being stuck in the same house as Minako and *her*? That's what really scared me away from Gryffindor.   
  
* * *  
  
Chibiusa grinned at Lindsey, whose bewildered gaze rested on Haruka and Michiru, both of which having seemed to completely forgotten the existence of the other two girls. She dragged Lindsey several feet away. Don't mind them, they get like that sometimes. She told the other girl. And some people call *me* sugary sweet! Still no response. Oh dear. I really hope you're not a homophobe. That would just totally ruin our friendship, which would be a shame, since I rather like you. She stopped, aware of the fact that she was babbling in her nervousness.   
  
Lindsey asked, not exactly coherently, then the light dawned. Oh! No, of course not!   
  
That's good.   
  
I think it's rather sweet, actually. Lindsey remarked. But aren't they a little young to have decided? We all are, really.   
  
Chibiusa laughed. They're soulmates. The whole time I've known them, I don't think either has been seriously interested in anyone else. Except . . . she thought at times that Haruka might have had a bit of a crush on her mother at one point, but bringing that up would just complicate matters.  
  
For two people so in love as they are, they don't seem too happy. That's sad. Lindsey commented seriously. Life should be happiness and flowers, when you're as close as they act, not whatever has them down. Come to think of it, I don't think either of them smiles very much at all.  
  
Chibiusa sighed. They came here partly, I think, to escape from their problems, and it didn't work. It must be hard, not only bearing the constant weight of betrayal, but also having to remain around those you betrayed.   
  
Lindsey was frankly disbelieving. I can't see either of them betraying anyone, much less close friends. But, if you say so–they must have had an *extremely* good reason.   
  
Chibiusa's face showed her gratification. I'm so glad you think so too! The others all refused to consider their side, and it's just plain unfair, I think. Lindsey, she realized, was deceptively easy to talk to. Afraid of having said too much, and to change the subject, she whipped out a couple of matches that she had snitched. Want to practice Transfiguration? I brought plenty of extras.  
  
Soon enough, Haruka and Michiru rejoined them, as all four took a break from book-work and applied their concentration to the matches instead.   
  
* * *  
  
It was sweet of Chibiusa to drag Lindsey away when we started getting mushy–I knew she was probably poking fun at us behind our backs, but we learned to put up with good-natured teasing, and even laugh along with, a long time ago. When we rejoined them, Chibiusa just calmly pulled out a couple more matches (*snicker* it's nice to know I'm not the only one who snitched some!) and beckoned to us to have a seat.   
  
By the time the sun began to set, casting a beautiful reddish glow over the calm waters of the lake, we had all (finally!) mastered the art of turning a match into a needle and were more than ready to go inside.   
  
On our way down the winding and steep stairs, we ran into the Ravenclaw first-years, on their way up to engage in their night of star-watching (Slytherin came Thursday, I had already checked). Ami glanced and, upon seeing us, looked quickly away, a spark of anger veiled within her eyes. Mamoru just glared, although seeing an outsider (Lindsey) with us, he did try to disguise the fact that he was glaring at us.   
  
Hotaru was the only one who said a word. I still haven't forgiven you. She stated coldly as we passed her by, then her voice softened, a very slight, almost indistinguishable amount. But I am almost beginning to understand why.   
  
Michiru and I affected not to notice Ami and Mamoru's silent, accusatory looks, but Chibiusa frankly glared, anger and contempt warring in her gaze–one which rivaled and surpassed that of her father. And Lindsey seemed slightly bewildered, caught up in undercurrents she only half recognized and didn't, *couldn't* understand.   
  
* * *  
  
Back at Slytherin, we stated the password (Mudbloods) and passed through the common room, on our way to the girl's dorm room, where we'd have only Millicent and Pansy to contend with. Our way was blocked by one of Draco's ugly henchpeople–Crabbe or Goyle, I didn't know exactly which. Then a smooth voice (of which we are all so fond) drawled, So you're too good to associate with the likes of us, filth?   
  
It seemed that was his new nickname for me. I am so stunned by his amazing inventiveness. I don't know, are the rest of the people here like you, Draco? I queried in my own silky voice of extreme sarcasm. If so . . . yes!   
  
At the same time, Filth? Why yes, I do believe you are. Came a calm voice from behind me. How disappointing to find that some Slytherins actually do measure down to my worst expectations. Lindsey added, anger in her voice. My lips twitched. (A hit, a veritable hit! Lindsey: 1; Draco: 0)  
  
Leaving the poor boy gaping and retortless once again, we passed on by, up to the girls' dorm. Whereupon reaching said dorm, we all grinned and gave each other high fives. Then Michiru's stomach grumbled and, in supporting chorus, the rest of ours grumbled as well.   
  
We never had lunch, did we? Chibiusa asked, in the voice of one just realizing that fact. And it's past suppertime already.   
  
So we raid the kitchens. Lindsey grinned. My mom said she and her friends used to do so all the time, and she told me the way.   
  
Lead on. The three of us chorused, our stomachs providing the harmonic line (or perhaps percussion).   
  
* * *  
  
Full from a very successful raid, the four of us returned, giggling quietly to ourselves, to a mostly silent and darkened room. Millicent was already in bed, snoring loudly, another fact that provoked suppressed mirth. I set Keldir loose from the cage which, he complained loudly, he had been cooped up in all stinkin' day. He slithered out of the room, his silver scales glinting like moonlight, as he went to search for the boys' dorm in order to (I assumed) do mischief to Draco.   
  
I fell into bed beside Michiru, completely forgetting in my exhaustion our decision to sleep in separate beds the first few days. Curled up beneath the covers with a comforting and familiar warmth beside me, I was completely relaxed in mind and body, a relaxation that would probably become all too rare in the coming days, and slipped into sleep quickly, easily, and not quite noticing the boundary at which I was no longer awake.   
  
* * *  
  
The shadow stood at the side of the bed, looking calmly down at the two sleeping figures. It sighed, once.   
  
I hope you and the others, whoever they are, can reconcile eventually. All three of you deserve nothing less. And no one deserves to have lost the friendship such brave, noble, intelligent, and loyal people as you are.   
  
It paused. I could be wrong in my estimation of your character, but I rather doubt it. There's something you are all hiding, the three of you and your former friends, and I wish I knew what it was. I just hope that someday, you'll trust me enough to tell me. Until then, I won't pry.   
  
The figure slipped away to its own bed and, passing a window on its way, the cold silver moonlight glinted off short blue-black hair.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
7. A Ring's Return  
  
Our first days at Hogwarts seemed to fly by. Waking up to the wonderful music of Draco's panicked yell of Charms with Professor Flitwick, Herbology with Professor Sprout. Getting a detention from Professor Snape because Draco set our bed hangings on fire, and it spread to the rest of the room (Why didn't Draco get detention, since it was his fault? Just . . . don't ask) Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell, stargazing on the roof on Thursday. Pouring judicious amounts of water on Draco's bed so it looked like he wet it (and boy, was he humiliated! We could hear the laughs all the way from the girl's dorm!) Herbology again . . . the list seemed endless.   
  
But that was before Potions. All three of us dreaded it, being put in the same class as the princess–we shared Potions with Gryffindor, a rather stupid thing to do with the two houses that were the worst rivals, I thought.   
  
Potions was taught down in one of the dungeons–rather near the Slytherin hall. Not surprising, since it was taught by Professor Snape, a rather skinny man with greasy black hair and a perpetual sneer locked on his face, the Head of Slytherin. I disliked him on sight–anyone that Draco was fond of . . . anyone who actually liked Draco! Plus the incident with the bed hangings set on fire–that detention was *not* fun, especially with Draco hanging around, free as a bird, and laughing at us.   
  
We all filed into the dungeon: Michiru, Chibiusa, Lindsey and I; Ron, Hermione, Harry, Neville, Usagi and Minako; Draco and other assorted Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years. Professor Snape's eyes surveyed us all, his cold, empty black eyes that made me supress a shiver as they passed over me. Then, as his eyes met Harry's, an emotion filled that disturbing void–hatred. Not simple neutrality, not dislike, but pure, cold hatred.   
  
Harry does that to people. It's nearly impossible to have no opinion about him–you either really like him, which in some cases crosses the line into idolatry (mostly because of that something that he did, the something important), or you really, really don't. Both Professor Snape and Draco fall into the latter category, while Michiru, Chibiusa, and I are placed in the former, insomuch as we think he's a nice person, worth knowing.   
  
I knew there'd be trouble. Even as I allowed myself to be partially lulled by the charismatic rhythm of his oration, I kept one eye on Harry and the other on Professor Snape.   
  
Then the man began to interrogate Harry, concentrating solely on him and asking questions that he obviously had no clue as to the answer of. Michiru and I exchanged glances, one which Chibiusa intercepted and fully agreed. Something had to be done. Hermione was squirming in her seat like a three-year-old who was being forced to sit for too long, her hand reaching high into the air.   
  
Give him a rest! I interrupted Professor Snape in the middle of his latest question (and boy, did he look miffed, too). He may be a celebrity of some sort, but he's still human, with a human memory. Even if he has read the whole book, all the books, he's not going to remember everything! Why don't you ask Hermione, instead? She looks like she knows.  
  
Sit down. He growled, then turned to glare at Hermione. And the same goes for you. He then shifted his focus to the rest of the class. Well, what are the rest of you doing, sitting there like lumps on a log?! Take notes!   
  
Well, at least I had kept Harry and/or Hermione from getting stuck in detention. I knew the look that had appeared in Snape's eyes while he was humiliating Harry–the same look that had appeared a few seconds before he gave us detention. A gloating, I-have-power-and-you-don't look. Too bad it wouldn't be a good idea for me to take out the Space Sword and shove it up his . . . *whistle innocently* Anyway . . .  
  
Our first potion, done in pairs (Michiru and I, of course! And Chibiusa paired up with Lindsey), was fairly simple. Snape swept throughout the room, his black cape billowing behind him like a bad impression of Dracula, watching people and making everyone far too nervous.   
  
Especially poor Neville. I think he almost completely messed up the potion he and another Gryffindor boy were working on, before Chibiusa jumped in and set him straight. Which led to a big, if quiet and mild-mannered argument between Chibiusa and the other boy, who didn't seem to think anything *any* Slytherin said could be trusted.   
  
I can't say I can blame him too much. It's not like I'd ever trust anything Draco tried to convince me of. Truth to tell, Neville didn't either, but Chibiusa's suggestion calmed him enough to where he looked back at the directions instead of blindly throwing things in. And, lo and behold, the Slytherin girl was *actually* *right*! (Yes, I'm being sarcastic. Couldn't you tell? Being a Slytherin can, at times, be highly annoying. Especially with certain people *coughDracocough* around.)  
  
But all good things must end and, thankfully, that is equally true of bad things. Eventually, we were let out of Potions. Unlike the Gryffindors, who had the afternoon off, we had to go back to Herbology. Professor Sprout is nice, but I've gotten the impression that she doesn't really like us all that much. Probably picking up on the (deserved, I must admit) contempt and abhorrence Makoto, Rei, and especially Setsuna I'm sure feel towards us. At least we didn't share Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, the way we share Potions with the Gryffindors.   
  
Being surrounded by people who have a good reason to hate you is bad enough *one* period out of the week. I don't think I could bear it if we had to survive much more than that. Draco's different. He's fun to fight with, because I know the fight is a pointless one. Funny, that I enjoy so much something that's so devoid of any meaning. Perhaps it's because Draco truly does think he hates me, yet I know I don't hate him. Dislike, yes, but mostly he just annoys and amuses me, sometimes simultaneously.   
  
It seems like most of the teachers don't really like Slytherin all that much, with the sole exception of Professor Snape–he likes the rest of Slytherin, he just doesn't like us. But most of them at least make an honest attempt to suppress their prejudices. Snape doesn't even try (I guess that's why he got Slytherin–like begets like).   
  
* * *  
  
After Herbology, the four of us–as had become habit, over the last week–ascended to the roof, to do our homework and relax, away from the presence of anyone who disliked us. I finished recopying my Herbology and Potions notes, so that they'd actually be readable, and started in on the paper for History of Magic, which I had nearly finished. History truly is a very interesting subject, even when the teacher bores you to tears. Or sleep.   
  
My paper was on a group of sisters that lived back at the dawn of time–nine sisters, and all of them witches with special talents that they later became famous for. Amazing, really, that their names, the real and the Greek version, were nearly identical. Probably because they were born Greek, and as such given names that were not corrupted nearly as much by the ignorant onlookers–Clio, Urania, Melpomene, Thalia, Terpsichore, Calliope, Erato, Polyhymnia, and Euterpe.   
  
Fascinating to me, as much of history is. I love it. But there are times . . . my mind screamed Break time! at me, in the tone that indicates to me that, no matter how hard I try, I won't get much of anything done until I take a break. So I stood up, bounced over to the opposite edge of our particular, smallish roof. Yes, I bounced. One of the of being eleven again–all that energy! Yeesh!   
  
I sat, out of casual sight of the rest of the group, with my legs dangling over the edge, staring out into the beautiful blue sky or down at the Quidditch field, where lots of tiny black spots flew on equally tiny brooms in a dizzying display that made me think, whimsically, of some sort of mating display.   
  
And perhaps I'm not that far off. Quidditch strikes me as one of the things that boys would do or brag about (or both) to get the girls' attention. Maybe vice versa, too, sometimes. A sudden cessation of talk from the other side of the roof, brought by idle winds, plus the equally sudden awareness of another prescence, dragged me from my idle thoughts.   
  
I could kill you now, you know. The whisper, in a husky voice I had come to know so very well. Just a push, and . . . there would be nothing left of you but a random splotch on the ground.  
  
I snorted, equally softly. If it were anyone else–no, strike that, there is one other as well–I'd reply that if I fell, I'd make sure to drag you with me. But the two of you deserve the chance, if that is what you decide you should do. I knew she wouldn't kill me. At least . . . not now. But I meant what I said–if either of them truly felt the need to kill me, I wouldn't try to stop them.  
  
But since you're not going to kill me just yet, please, have a seat. A small murmur . . . suppressed laughter? . . . and long, dark green hair brushed my face, carried by a small gust of wind.   
  
She impatiently shoved the errant hairs behind her ear–an ear without the beautiful garnet red earrings she customarily wore. I wonder why she stopped. But then, other, more pressing questions occupied my mind, as I covertly glanced at her stern profile, gazing unseeingly into the distance. Which . . . ? I couldn't bring myself to finish the question. I wanted, *needed* to know, but I feared what that knowledge would bring. Simple ignorance was safer.   
  
The full power of her compelling eyes was turned upon me. I felt as if I had been taken apart, reduced to my component parts, and examined carefully. I felt that I had failed that examination. Finally, she replied on a sigh. We don't know. Neither of us do. Two people, two balls of deadly golden light that twisted and spun through the air until it was impossible to tell which had originated from which person. You meant yours for me, and Michiru's for Hotaru, I think. You stood there facing us, but your gaze never strayed from my face, your eyes wide and empty of the Haruka I had come to know and love as a sister.  
  
She looked down, briefly, at her right hand. I figured it out, later. Without the logical force of your minds in control of your actions, the two of you seized on, not the strongest of us, but the ones with whom you had the closest emotional ties. She laughed a little, embarrassed, and the slightest blush rose on her cheeks. Of course, it took me far too long to actually begin thinking rationally again. The shadow of a smile twisted the edges of her mouth. I've always prided myself on being the most rational, yet I found it impossible when it was myself at stake.   
  
I laughed. Ah, Setsuna. It just sounds like you're beginning to become a bit more human and less the duty-driven, all-knowing superwarrior. Pause. Yes, it does rather make sense about the emotional ties. Michiru, as Hotaru's mother-figure, was a great deal closer to her than I. And the two of us had always been rather good friends–we share many of the same views.  
  
Setsuna's eyes were locked on her hands, now clasped in her lap. I realized what an awful thing we had done . . . leaving you there, ostrasizing you like that . . . soon after we all went our separate ways. If Hotaru hadn't been with me, I might have returned–but I doubt I would have had the courage. I'm sorry for that, Haruka.   
  
And I'm sorry, for deciding to pursue a course of action that brought nothing but pain to the rest of the team. It's just . . . not in my nature to place all my faith in the abilities of one person, without attempting to right things myself. I know I should have more faith in the princess . . . she hasn't lost yet, after all . . .  
  
But you're afraid that, if you do decide to blindly have faith in her, the other shoe will drop, and not yet' will become this time'.  
  
I nodded. That was exactly how I felt, though I knew the fear was as foolish as my lack of trust.   
  
Setsuna sighed, staring out into space once again. And there isn't much I can say in reassurance. I know what should happen, if a specific set of events does. But I don't know exactly what those events are, so if one of them doesn't happen, or if something happens that shouldn't have, I won't know until the future shown by the Time Gate is thrown into flux.   
  
She frowned. I have the feeling that this is not the way things should have turned out. But whether it was the reversion to eleven years old or the schism of the team that shouldn't have happened, I have no idea. The Time Gate's been in flux ever since the end of the battle with Galaxia, so I have no idea what the consequence of our ill thought out actions will be.   
  
Glancing idly down at my hands, and remembering hers, I was reminded of a gift that I had never thought I would have a chance to return. I took a small item out of my subspace pocket and, holding it in my fist, I held it out to her. I know we don't have Hotaru to look after together, anymore. I said softly, desperately hoping she'd accept the ring that was identical to the ones we had once worn, a lifetime ago, as the sign of our promise. But if you're still willing to be friends . . .  
  
She took it, slipping it onto the fourth finger of her right hand, the barest hint of a tear glistening in each of her eyes. Thank you. Once I found that I had lost the ring, as well as my life and the two of you, I felt as if my heart would break. So . . . are we together as a team again? I could almost see the same hope in her eyes as had lain, unrealized, for so long within my heart and Michiru's.   
  
Of course . . . us against the inner senshi, just like in the good old days. I joked feebly, but then I couldn't contain myself anymore. I flung myself at her, hugging her tightly, a corner of the hole in my heart finally mending, only to find that she had done the same. I've missed your friendship so much.   
  
And I yours. She murmured softly into my hair. And I yours.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
8. Flight  
  
When Setsuna and I returned to the group, both of us alive and unharmed, Michiru and Chibiusa both looked considerably surprised, but gladly welcomed Setsuna to the group. Especially Chibiusa–I think the way her beloved Puu had ostrasized us struck her harder than that of the rest of the senshi combined. After Setsuna and Lindsey were introduced, one of the first things Chibiusa did was to drag Setsuna away for a low-voiced conference–or perhaps it was Setsuna dragging Chibiusa, I couldn't really tell–probably a conversation concerning the current situation with the Time Gate and/or the future in general.   
  
Lindsey turned to us. I've been meaning to ask for a long time, but keep on forgetting. Why do you call Usagi, Chibiusa?  
  
Michiru smiled and answered before I had a chance to. We used to be very close to her mother, whose name was also Usagi. And so we got into the habit of calling Usagi Chibiusa, or little Usagi', a childhood nickname that just sort of stuck. Close enough to the truth, I approved. About as close as the story I had been about to tell would have been.  
  
After the conference finally finished, Setsuna joined Chibiusa, Michiru, and Lindsey in trying to figure out the latest Transfiguration homework, while I continued my essay for History of Magic. Somehow, it wasn't nearly as hard for me to concentrate. My mind was clearer because my heart was more healed than it had been in far too long.   
  
* * *  
  
That night I went to bed happy, slept well, and woke up feeling, for once, like all was truly right with the world. Even baka Draco's attempt to dye all my pretty scarves and our beautiful bed-hangings a really putrid color of green didn't faze my good mood. The tie-died look that ended up being the actual result was even rather pretty . . . I decided to keep it like that. Maybe I'd even thank Draco . . .   
  
Preferably, at the top of a large stairwell, so that when he keeled over in shock, he'd also fall down a flight or two of stairs. Yes, I can be evil on occasion, but only when the situation calls for it. And I wouldn't really want Draco to fall and break his neck, I suppose. After all, who would I have to provoke into mindless idiocy then? He has his uses–great stress reliever, coming up with incredibly cutting insults like that, and watching him blow up when I use them. Ever so much fun, really.   
  
On my way downstairs to the common room, I passed by the Bloody Baron, absentmindedly greeting him–the poor dear is gradually getting used to the idea that there are people he can't scare the stuffings out of (me, Michiru, Chibiusa, Lindsey, probably Setsuna and Makoto as well . . .), but he still looks rather shocked every time I see him and refuse to cower back in horror. I love going out of my way to greet him civilly and even in a friendly manner. It confuses him so much, and he's kind of cute (like a really *ugly* pet) when he gets that slightly bewildered what-just-happened? look on his face.  
  
I know I shouldn't pick on him, but it's like with Draco–I just can't help myself. Then I reached the common room and the sign posted in sight of all. Attention First Years. It said. Flight lessons beginning on Thursday. I read out loud, and grinned. That was, of course, before I saw the next part.   
  
With Gryffindor. Guess who? How . . . intriguing. If the person you guessed possesses white-blonde hair, grey eyes, and a very nasty sneer, you are absolutely correct. Who else?  
  
Thank you. I am perfectly capable of reading it myself, Draco. Very flat tone of voice. And if you dare pick on any of them, I'll tie you up into a tiny ball and throw you into the lake for the sea monster to eat. I turned and walked away. I was incredibly angry, and not entirely sure why, and I didn't want to stay around any annoyances any longer. I couldn't trust myself to refrain from actually hurting him.  
  
* * *  
  
Up in the quiet area of the roof, I calmed down considerably, fairly fast. Having a soft breeze blowing against your face can really work wonders when you're in a bad mood. I still didn't really understand why I'd nearly blown up at Draco like that. It's not like this would be the first time for me to see the Gryffindors. We had Potions with them, after all.   
  
Sitting there talking the issue out with myself, I finally figured out what I thought was the problem. If I goofed majorly–I really didn't *think* I would, but my insecurities wouldn't listen to my mind–not only would Draco be there (who cares what he thinks, anyway?), but so would Usagi. And even though she still hated me, I really didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of her.   
  
I've done so too often already.   
  
With Michiru, I know her limitations nearly as well as I know my own, and we make fools out of ourselves in front of each other practically every time the other is feeling sad or depressed. So we don't really notice, unless the other does something spectacularly stupid as well as foolish.   
  
But Usagi's different. She's the princess. Someday she'll be queen of the world. I never really became friends with her before knowing that. For we Outer senshi, the situation is different. We know her, but we never really knew her before we knew she would someday be our queen. The Inner senshi made friends with her, so they see the friend, not the liege. It's harder for me, for all of the Outer senshi, I think.   
  
We've never really loved her. The Inner senshi love her as a friend, but we love the queen she will someday become, not the sweet child she is now. And I think she senses that.  
  
If she even becomes queen, after all that has happened. I think, I *believe* she will, but from the worried look on Setsuna's face, I'm not as sure as I used to be.   
  
But at least I was calmer, so I rose from my seat on the roof, taking one last look at the beautiful and brightening sky, and went back downstairs to join the rest of the school at breakfast.  
  
* * *  
  
When we saw Draco on his way past the Gryffindor table Thursday morning, we knew there'd be trouble. We being Michiru, Chibiusa, Lindsey, and I. I don't think there has been a single time when Draco and the Gryffindors–especially Harry and Ron–had been in close proximity and there hadn't been trouble. So we stood up as well and followed him, to be in a position where we could (hopefully) squash any trouble before it started.   
  
Unfortunately, we didn't get there soon enough. Draco snatched *something* from Neville, Harry and Ron stood up, Professor McGonagall showed up and Draco handed that something back with an ugly look on his face. That look meant trouble–not that Draco was ever anything but.   
  
And our first flight lessons were at three thirty that afternoon. Oh, goody. This looked like the beginning of a *wonderful* day.   
  
* * *  
  
We, this time meaning the whole of first year Slytherin (all eleven of us), reached the open area in which we were to have our first lesson before the Gryffindors did. Twenty-one broomsticks were laid out in three rows of seven on the lawn, broomsticks that we did not approach until the Gryffindors and Madam Hooch (our rather short-tempered and impatient instructor) arrived.   
  
Michiru stood to my left and Lindsey to my right, with Chibiusa, Neville, Hermione, and Millicent following her. At Madam Hooch's suggestion, we each commanded our brooms into our hands. Mine jumped into my hand nearly as fast as Harry's, and we both were faster than Draco (nyah, nyah). Michiru had a little more trouble, Chibiusa about as much, Lindsey was about as fast as Draco, and the other two girls only got theirs to roll a little like Hermione's. Neville's broom did not move at all.   
  
The professor showed us the correct way to mount our brooms and instructed us to push against the ground on the count of three. Neville looked so nervous, I think he was about to launch prematurely, but Chibiusa took his hand and smiled encouragement. She's sweet like that. Rather like her mother, except more mature in many ways.   
  
Usagi . . . her klutziness proved to be her downfall once again. She was in the row ahead of us (ours was the middle row), and she had no one to grab her and keep her calm like Neville did. Yeah, you guessed it. She launched early and far too fast.   
  
Then she began to lose her grip. I saw it happening. Literally instinctively, I kicked myself into the air and after her.   
  
What was I doing? What did I possibly hope to accomplish? I had no idea then and I have even less of a clue now. As I said, it was instinctive. We were trained to protect the princess, and that meant keeping her from harm if at all possible. And falling thirty feet or more to the ground with no idea how to land properly definitely qualifies as harm, if not of the life-threatening kind.   
  
Less than a second behind me was Michiru, slightly wobbly but equally as determined to avert disaster. We reached Usagi quickly, since her broom had pretty much stalled as she fought to stay on. I grabbed the princess while Michiru caught the broom once she saw I had Usagi.   
  
As we floated more gently to the ground, I realized that in my worry about Usagi, I had completely forgotten my nervousness about flying. The first flight had been a breeze, and I knew that Michiru felt the same way. I looked down at the small blonde head and grinned.   
  
Once again, princess, we've bailed you out unasked for. Then, all we got was questions we refused to answer. Now . . . nothing will change, I suppose. The same silence and carefully averted eyes, not even a Thank you, or a Why did you save me? But we didn't do it for the thanks. We did it because . . . we're still your senshi, even if you no longer accept us as such. And the job of the sailor senshi is to protect. We protect the solar system as a whole, but, like the Inner Senshi, we also protect you. You just never made the effort to understand us, understand why we took the actions we did. You just judged. Still, it's impossible to stay angry at you. We did what we thought was right, and you did the same. Our basic beliefs are too different for us to ever work well as a team.   
  
But it is still our duty as senshi and our own personal decision to protect you. Perhaps you'll understand us someday, the way your daughter does.   
  
Chibiusa is more perceptive than you, in matters of the way people think. She probably gets it from her father. So . . . I'm not going to hold my breath.   
  
* * *  
  
In his annoyance at being unable to cause mischief at the flight lessons, Draco set fire to our bed hangings again. This time, however, we weren't nearby for Snape to assign the blame to, so Draco got detention. Poor Snape, being unable to find a scapegoat for his beloved teacher's pet's nasty behaviour. The very thought makes me so very sad . . . that I grin evilly even now.   
  
Uranus and Neptune were especially bright that night, a fact that distracted us, as instead of working we spent most of our time staring at our beautiful guardian planets. While we were away, Keldir sneaked into the boys' dorm and . . . how do I say it politely? . . . defecated all over Draco's pillow. Of course, it being our night for watching the stars, it was rather dark when we got back, and someone had forgotten to light the lamps . . .  
  
Need I really say any more? I laughed myself to sleep that night, and dreamed of Michiru. We were flying together, but we didn't need broomsticks. It was just her, me, and the beautiful blue sky.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
9. Angered Thoughts and Angel Wings  
  
I dream of flying nearly every night now. Sometimes it's with a broomstick, but more often not. It just feels so natural that I almost feel I could do it when awake as well. Not that I'm planning on jumping off the roof of Hogwarts to test my hypothesis, although I've come disturbingly close to considering that idea.   
  
I even went so far as to ask Professor Flitwick, in Charms, if there was a spell that would let you fly like that. He looked down his nose at me (a difficult feat since, even at my shortened height, I was probably at least a foot taller than him. Yet somehow, he managed) and informed me stuffily that there was such a spell of Levitation, but it was very complicating and not worth using since it took more time to set up than actually flying someplace on a broomstick would take.   
  
Levitation of other objects was evidently much simpler, as in our next lesson we started learning the spell, _Wingardium Leviosa_, and practicing in pairs on feathers. Beautiful little spell, that, and one that I thoroughly enjoyed learning for once.   
  
Transfiguration was more notes on theory, which I didn't mind too much, since the theory helped me to understand the practice–if, that is, I took good enough notes to actually understand them afterwards. That part can sometimes be a chore. And in the afternoon, after our class, we went up to the roof and used the Levitation spell to play a game of catch with a small ball that Lindsey had in her trunk. That was fun!   
  
Then, on Friday, Potions. I'm not afraid of Snape, but I don't particularly like him all that much, either, so Potions is always a chore. Especially with Minako and the princess constantly boring holes in my back from the heat of their glares. Oh yeah, I forgot, make that just Minako. Usagi doesn't glare, she just ignores us. But Minako glares strongly enough for two, so maybe that's why I forget.   
  
I had spilled a little bit of my potion, so the two of us were the last ones–we told Chibiusa and Lindsey to go ahead and leave–to exit the Potions classroom. Almost at the door, a voice from behind stopped us. Haruka Ten'ou. I froze. Don't react, I told myself. Whatever he says, whatever he does, just don't react.   
  
I sure wasn't expecting what he did say, however. I believe I knew your father. We were in the same year. Hiroshi? You look a great deal like him.   
  
Anger flared as I turned around. I have no father. I stated harshly, and tried to leave, but Michiru held me back.   
  
He may be different now. She suggested, in a quiet voice Snape was not meant to hear. Like my parents.   
  
I smiled, one completely devoid of mirth. The case is different. A six-year-old me is the same, no matter what my apparent age. We met when we were nine or ten, instead of fifteen. That is a change large enough to adjust your parents' attitudes. But as far as I'm concerned, my early life was most likely completely identical. I left, and this time Michiru came with me.   
  
* * *  
  
Snape looked at the doorway, a blank expression on his face. He knew the Ten'ou girl didn't like him much, but a reaction that intense he had not expected. I have no father, she had said, in a tone that left no doubt as to her feelings on the subject, and very little doubt as to whether or not she was his daughter.   
  
He smiled, remembering Hiroshi flaring up in almost exactly the same way when he encountered something he felt was wrong. Their group had always teased him gently, saying that with his sense of honor, he should be in Gryffindor.   
  
Then, when they all joined Voldemort–even himself, no matter that it was only a ruse on behalf of Dumbledore–he had broken away from their group, saying that he could no longer be a part of a group that was willing to do that.   
  
Snape had wanted to run after him, protest and say he wasn't really on Voldemort's side, but he couldn't. And then Hiroshi disappeared–moved back to Japan, he had learned later–and never again reappeared. Until now. The spirit of the Hiroshi he remembered had appeared in the girl he was sure was Hiroshi's daughter.   
  
He wondered what her relationship with that other girl–the teal-haired one, Michiru?–was. During the Sorting, he had watched her and, although she had shown dismay at where Michiru was sent, she felt no surprise at all when she went to the same house. Almost as if she had been expecting it. But how?   
  
The girl might look almost exactly like Hiroshi, but there was an air of mystery around her that he had never possessed.   
  
* * *  
  
It was a good thing we had the rest of the day off after Potions. I don't think I could have made it through other classes, I was in such a temper. Okay, I'm not usually disturbed by much, but mentioning my father is a sure-fire way to make me go absolutely ballistic.   
  
Michiru knows this. We may not know everything about each other, but our feelings about our respective families was never something we tried to hide. At least now I have a family to be proud of, but the mention of my former family still angers me more than just about anything else.   
  
So Michiru knew that I really needed to be alone and let off some major steam, and she didn't follow me up to one of the smaller roof areas, but went to join our other friends on our normal roof space. I did have my homework with me–subspace pockets are wonderful for that, they can hold a great deal more than a backpack or bookbag ever could–so I sat and fumed, did some homework, fumed some more, and generally blew off as much steam as possible.   
  
At some point, I transformed. Being Sailor Uranus has, unlikely as it seems, been a very calming influence on me. It gives me something to live for and work towards more important that winning the next race. Uranus and Michiru. Setsuna, too, in her own way. And Chibiusa is just special–with all of her mother's good qualities and few of her bad ones. Especially now that she's grown up somewhat, she doesn't whine or gorge herself on food the way she used to.   
  
I had never been one to form close bonds with much of anyone–another problem that I could probably trace back to my father. Never, that is, until I met Michiru. The two of us were closer to each other, almost instantly, than I had ever been to anyone in my life. That, and the promise of power that I didn't want, made me keep my distance for far too long. Then . . . there was always a similar bond between us and Setsuna and, later, Hotaru, the bond of being senshi of the outer planets, nearly as strong but in a different, platonic, way.   
  
Being a sailor senshi has changed my life in so many ways, but even the good thing (more often than not) that my life has become is not enough to erase the memories of my life before. Memories of my father, and my mother–a proper little wife who did not have the courage to stand up for herself, much less for me.   
  
Sometimes, even at my most blindly angry, I wonder . . . will I ever be truly free of him?  
  
* * *  
  
Two girls stood in a hall. It didn't really matter which hall, although this was a well-lit, wide hall, since it was near the entrance and the Great Hall. Both are rather short, although they are still taller than most of the other girls in their year, the first year class. Both wear the customary black robes that all students at Hogwarts are supposed to wear–but one, with dark green hair approaching black, less than half an inch taller than the other, wears a garnet red sash that matches her eyes. She stands one one side of the hall, her face a study of impassivity. Aside from the sash, the only decoration she wore was a small gold ring, on the fourth finger of her right hand. The other girl had auburn hair tied up into a high ponytail, thin wisps of hair escaping on either side of her face. She had emerald eyes and small, rose-shaped earrings, one in each ear. Her face reflects her emotions, a mixture of anger and disappointment.   
  
The brown-haired girl asked. They killed you, Setsuna, and yet you forgive them? She tossed her head. I don't care if it's necessary for Crystal Tokyo to exist, I'm *not* forgiving them.   
  
Setsuna's eyebrows twitched, and she smiled ever so slightly, grimly. I'm afraid that's not an issue. At Makoto's look, she explained, the Time Gates have been in flux practically since the final battle–something happened that shouldn't have, but I don't know what. So as of right now, the existence of Crystal Tokyo has nothing to do with whether or not you decide to make up with Haruka and Michiru. Something bigger is happening.  
  
I assume that's why Chibiusa is here, because my futuristic counterpart sensed some great change coming, and didn't want it to affect Chibiusa. She didn't know about Hogwarts when she arrived, so it's a good conjecture that this wasn't meant to happen.   
  
She shrugged and turned away. Anyway, there's nothing I can do or understand until the Time Gates clear up. Except, of course, my homework. Ja. She began walking away.  
  
But Setsuna, you still haven't told me why you forgave them!   
  
Setsuna turned back and smiled, holding up her right hand so the ring would glint in the light. For the same reason Haruka killed me and not any of the rest of you, and would have still done so even if everyone had been there. Because we have a bond, and the bond needs me for any of us to feel complete. It would be best if Hotaru, and the rest of you senshi, were part of it too. But the Outer Senshi were together, alone, long before we knew of any of you. And if you really consider the matter, you'll realize that both of them are punishing themselves far more harshly than you or I ever could.  
  
And she left, leaving the girl with auburn hair standing alone in the empty hall, beginning to wonder if what she had done had really been the right thing to do. Finally, she shook her head and went the same way the other had. She had homework to do, too, after all.   
  
* * *  
  
In the process of the afternoon, I began to notice something about being Sailor Uranus. Staying like that allowed me to access something–the of the planet, such as they were, perhaps–that allowed me to revert back to my adult, seventeen-year-old form. Soon, I could switch between the two with ease, although I chose to stay eleven for the most part. I prefer being eleven–it means I have at least surrogate parents who care.   
  
But then, what do I know about my parents? Nothing really. And while I completely rejected Michiru's suggestion–that my parents were as different this time around as hers were–in the heat of anger, I was beginning to reconsider it now that most of my anger had cooled off. I needed to find out myself and I didn't see how.   
  
There were two problems, really. How to return to Japan (and come back here once I finished), and how to keep him from recognizing me. Then I realized that one of the problems had already been solved. My seventeen-year-old form would be the perfect disguise. As to how . . . I took out my copy of the elemental theory book, hoping it might provide some clue as to how I could harness the winds.   
  
Relaxed, now that my mind had been made up, I read and, eventually fell asleep, exhausted by the mental effort spent to keep myself in check.   
  
* * *  
  
I found myself standing on a field full of goldenrod-yellow grass, staring up into a beautiful blue sky, deeper in hue than that of the earth. And in place of the sun and the moon, a band arced across the sky, like an eternal meteor shower. Somehow, I knew I had come to an old memory, of what Uranus had once been like. In the distance, farther away than they looked to be in the clear air, there were imposing mountains, on average at least two to three times taller than the highest on Earth.   
  
It was a wonderful place, the first place I had ever really felt completely at home. Not surprising, since it is my home, my home and the source of my power–both tied it to me in very special ways.   
  
I see you've found your way here. A gentle voice–like the voice of a small breeze on a perfect day–observed from behind me. I turned–not as quickly as I could have, because I knew that, whoever it was, she was not a threat to me.   
  
She had hair as short as mine had ever been, navy blue in color, and bright yellow eyes the same color as the fields of grass. Her skin had the same lightly tanned hue as my own, and she wore a plain white sundress. At which point I realized that I was not still in my sailor fuku, but instead wore a T-shirt and shorts of the same light material. Who are you? I asked, and hoped the answer to the question wouldn't embarrass me too much through my faulty memory.   
  
She smiled. I'm not surprised you don't recognize me. Even if you remembered everything, you probably wouldn't. I was there for your initiation as Sailor Uranus, heir and crown princess of Uranus, in this form. But most of the time when I'm with you, I'm invisible.  
  
I asked. Now that she had mentioned it, hazy memories were beginning to return. Of the initiation, if not of her presence. But I rather thought Uranus was Father Sky so why are you . . .  
  
A girl? Uranus grinned. I'm all in your mind. And this visage is the one that you're subconsciously most comfortable with. She gestured around. As is this the proper setting. She sighed. I had forgotten what I used to look like during the Silver Millennium. I really am . . . was . . . a beautiful place.  
  
How could you forget?   
  
She sighed. Because you have forgotten. The royalty of each planet is tied to the planet with incredibly close bonds, but the senshi of a planet *is* the planet, and the planet is the senshi in many ways.  
  
The fracturing of the senshi's memories came, for the most part, because of the devastation of their guardian planets, but when you senshi forgot, so did we, the planets, and the forgetfulness of all of us only made it less likely that anything would be remembered.  
  
I nodded. It made sense, in a frightening way. So why has this happened now? I gestured to the landscape, to Uranus, and to myself. I haven't suddenly begun remembering events from the Silver Millennium, which is the only thing I can think of that would make sense to provoke this situation.   
  
Uranus smiled. Silly as it may sound, this is happening because you're beginning to grow up. All of you, forced back to a younger age, are reliving these years in a more– she waved a hand a little, obviously looking for the right word. –productive fashion, reshaping your personalities to more closely approach those of your previous incarnations.   
  
I wrinkled my nose. I'm sure I was a wonderful person back then. I said dryly, But that's not who I am right now. I wasn't raised to be a princess and a warrior and frankly, I like who I am. I don't want to change back to what I might have been, a person I don't even remember.  
  
She tilted her head. So you don't want to find out if your father is a person worth knowing, but continue on hating his memory? You'd rather return to the person who only cared for speed, fighting, and Michiru? That's the person you were in this incarnation, before you were forced back six years. Now, you've even noticed yourself that you're becoming more philosophical, less rigid in your determination to deny your father's memory by becoming a better man than *that* one could ever be.   
  
By growing up again, in a changed environment, with memories to guide you away from mistakes you might otherwise have made, you are growing naturally towards the type of person your first incarnation was–somewhat philosophical, enjoying quiet and opportunities to think, yet constantly climbing trees and running and generally being the most *alive* of the senshi.  
  
You don't have to become who you used to be. I'm not saying that. But you grew up in the wrong way to fully realize your own potential, as did the others. And now that you are changing, opening up, you are finally ready to accept the next stage in your development as a senshi. I know, because before now, I was not aware that I had the ability to gift you with this power.  
  
She held out both hands, and took mine in hers. A roaring sound filled my ears, the sound a tornado might make if I was stuck in the center of it. Something roared through my veins as well, a heady feeling of power that, reaching my mind, opened up new pathways, images of what I could do with my power that would never have occurred to me before.   
  
Uranus Eternal Make Up! I said softly, awe in my voice, as the winds of power wrapped around me. The skirt of my fuku lengthened a bit, into more of a dress, and the entire dress became a beautiful navy blue. My choker lost its star, reverting back to the plain navy blue choker it originally had been. A goldenrod yellow sash wound around my waist and ended in a small bow in the back. My boots stayed essentially the same, although the heel lowered some–which would make it a lot easier to run and fight in.   
  
And the wings . . . beautiful, pale yellow-white angel wings, feathery and each at least as long as I was tall. Wings that I discovered with delight I could withdraw and extend easily, unlike those Eternal Sailor Moon had worn.   
  
Uranus must have read my mind–I wouldn't have been surprised or offended since she is me in many ways, after all. Usagi is no longer Eternal Sailor Moon. She, too, will have to regain her power the right way, as will the rest of you. She shot me a warning glance, and I knew that I wouldn't like what she had next to say.   
  
You mustn't tell Michiru.   
  
At my instinctive protest, she held up a hand. I mean it. It is essential that Michiru do this in her own time, in her own manner. If you tell her your experiences, her own will be tainted, possibly enough to where she will be unable to take the next step and reassume the Eternal power.  
  
She smiled. You'll know, though, when she finds Eternal Neptune. The power signature, no different to lower stages, is unmistakable to another Eternal.   
  
With that last peace of information, she hugged me tightly–a hug I happily returned–and began to fade. Briefly, though, she recoalesced. You might want to talk to Snape about your father. She suggested, a small grin on her face. They were in the same year, after all.  
  
* * *  
  
When I awoke, I remembered everything that had happened in that dream that was not a dream. And the cool air at dusk shimmered with the vague, remembered impression of beautiful, pale yellow-white angel wings.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
10. Musings  
  
In an empty classroom, two girls waited for the rest of their class to arrive. What's wrong, Makoto? The black-haired girl asked.   
  
It's nothing, Rei. The other girl sighed, sinking lower into her seat. Just . . . never mind.  
  
I saw you talking with Setsuna yesterday. Rei continued softly. Whatever she said, I'm sure it had a pretty big impact on you. She smiled a little. You're beginning to doubt whether what we did was really the right thing.   
  
Makoto's head shot up. That's it exactly. How did you know?   
  
Rei looked down. I've had my doubts almost since day one. But . . . I've made my decision. I may not have been a very good friend to Usagi in the past, but I will always stand by her, regardless of my personal doubts.   
  
Makoto nodded silently. It all came down, really, to the bonds of friendship, loyalty, and duty that all the senshi shared. Yet, friendship, loyalty, and duty all pointed her towards the princess, but why did that decision seem so wrong?   
  
Where did her heart lie? And why did either decision, any movement from the fragile line she walked to either side of the unspoken argument, seem so wrong somehow?   
  
She looked over at the resolute face of one of her best friends. It would be so easy to just stay with Usagi. Or was it Serenity now? Whatever her name, she was essentially the same person. It didn't matter. But would taking that easy route truly be the right thing to do? She didn't know, and her indecision was tearing her apart.   
  
The rest of the class entered, and Makoto sighed, shoving away her thoughts and worries for a time as she attempted to pay attention to the class that was starting. Perhaps it would provide some sort of clarification. Or at least, take her mind off her problem, for a time.   
  
* * *  
  
Lindsey lazed on her bed, doing homework. Most of the time, she'd be up on the roof with the others, but she thought she'd leave them alone today. Even someone empathically nil would be able to see that the four of them had a lot of catching up to do. She paused, chewing absentmindedly on her pencil.   
  
I wonder if Setsuna is one of the people they supposedly betrayed. That would explain some things, the anxious looks and tension when Haruka and Setsuna were talking alone together.   
  
She shrugged. Until they chose to make it so, it wasn't any of her business. She sighed quietly, gazing unseeingly out a nearby window. It wasn't her place to go butting into other peoples' secrets. Especially when she had several of her own that she was uncomfortable with revealing to the general public. Or even to friends, since they didn't trust her enough to reveal their own secrets. Yet.   
  
She smiled. The secrets would come out eventually, that she was sure of. Her thoughts wandered slightly to the pink-haired girl she now called friend and the concern she had displayed when Haruka and Michiru's relationship had first become apparent, and an extra sparkle was added to her yellow-green eyes as she snorted quietly, a large grin on her face. Homophobic? Not likely.   
  
The smile remaining on her face, she turned her attention back to her homework. Blegh, history. She really couldn't see what Haruka found so fascinating about it.   
  
* * *  
  
Keldir curled up around the top of one of the posts of Haruka and Michiru's bed and sighed with mixed frustration and disgust. There was something different about his owner, but she wouldn't tell him what.   
  
It's a long story. I'll tell you when there's more time. He hissed mockingly to himself. Couldn't his baka owner-and-friend tell that he was getting worried?!   
  
Really, it just wasn't right for a certifiable human being–albeit one that has a very noticeable aura of magic around her even when she's not practicing it–to start taste/smell-ing like a bird, when he knew she hadn't even been around Avarana in a long enough time that any taste/smell should have worn off.   
  
He curled up even more tightly. Humans. He doubted he'd ever understand them. They were fun partners for practical jokes, though. Certain humans, at least. He wouldn't want to try to do anything with that Malfoy kid. Yuck.   
  
* * *  
  
Makoto paused at the end of the stairway leading to the portion of the roof where the would be. She sighed as she sat down on the top step and stared at her feet. Was this really what she wanted to do?   
  
She remembered the time she had idolized Haruka at the same time she despised Sailor Uranus. The handkerchief she had gone to such lengths to get back when it blew away, and the way Uranus and Neptune had just stood there, waiting to see if her heart crystal contained a talisman.   
  
She smiled mirthlessly. How funny it was, that the heart crystals they sought for so long had ended up being their own. She sighed. Deep down, had she ever really forgiven the two of them for just standing by and waiting? She had come to understand, if not to agree, but had she ever *really* forgiven them for that, much less for their betrayal during the final battle with Galaxia?   
  
Trying to search her heart for the answer to both questions, she found it a murky and incomprehensible, filled with half-answered questions and as much indecision as her mind had displayed.   
  
A hand brushed her shoulder and she looked up into the blue-green eyes, filled with a slightly quizzical expression, of one of the people who had figured foremost in her confused thoughts.   
  
It's getting dark. Haruka said quietly, her mouth forming a tentative half-smile. You might want to think about going inside soon.   
  
Makoto stood up. She assented, uncomfortable with conversation or, in truth, contact of any sort with the young woman standing nearby. Well . . . I guess I'll be going.   
  
Good night. Haruka told her back, in the same quiet voice.   
  
She didn't answer as she walked slowly back down the steps she had walked up hours before, cursing herself for a coward and an indecisive fool. Why couldn't she make up her mind? It shouldn't be that hard.   
  
Except it was. And she had no idea what to do about it.   
  
* * *  
  
The blonde girl lay curled up on her bed, blue eyes open and staring into nothing with wetness showing in both. She hugged her pillow close, and with one slightly shaky hand reached up to wipe the tears away.   
  
Tears belonged to her former self. And, despite the fact she was now eleven again, she tried her best not to cry. All crying would do would be to alert other people and contaminate them with her own private sorrows. And that was something she had told herself she would not do anymore.   
  
After all, a Gryffindor had to be brave, didn't she? Even if she was a total failure.   
  
Tears threatened again, and her mouth formed the word, why? Why did Chibiusa stay with Haruka and Michiru? Surely she didn't hate her mother that much, that she would automatically reject her? Why had Setsuna joined now, too? Sure, it might be because Crystal Tokyo would not come into existence without that action, but she felt it ran deeper than that. If that had been the case, why would she be wearing the ring again? The ring that signified a vow the three elder Outer Senshi had sworn.   
  
The other two . . . had she been sitting up, she would have shaken her head, an angry look coming over her face. From the beginning, the had made a point to rub in the fact that they didn't like her, didn't trust her, and would not believe in her. For a time, after they swore their allegiance, things had seemed better.   
  
Yet . . . they never believed her when she said the Starlights could be trusted. They put their silly duty to protect the solar system from invaders before everything. They didn't wait to see if the Starlights were actually evil, but just struck out, despite their vows of loyalty to her.   
  
Then, in the final battle . . . they had betrayed her, betrayed the other senshi, *killed* two of their fellow senshi, again merely because they refused to believe in her. The team had been better off without them. Would be better off without them.   
  
She saw that, and she thought the other inner senshi and Hotaru thought so too. She had believed that Setsuna thought the same as well, but then the green-haired senshi of time had defected to the other side. The same thought still remained uppermost in her mind. Why?  
  
Why did she have to continually prove to everyone that she was worthy of their trust? She snuggled deeper within the covers, expelling a nearly silent, yet still heartfelt, sigh. At least none of the inner senshi, none of her *friends* had defected.   
  
But why was she having so much trouble suppressing a tiny voice that whispered softly, deep within her mind, yet' ?  
  
* * *  
  
The school was quiet and dark, with everyone in bed–none of the houses were stargazing that night. All were asleep, and for the most part it was quiet. Some few people talked in their sleep and Minako, the aspiring idol singer, actually sang popular songs until someone, woken by the noise, kicked her. At which point she rolled over and stopped singing, much to the relief of that girl, and all was quiet again.   
  
Some people dreamed, some did not, but one dream in particular would have stood out as being different from all the rest, had anyone been watching those dreams, of the sleeping children at Hogwarts.   
  
* * *  
  
She ran, shrieking childishly and having ever so much fun doing so, through the elaborate dark catacombs that were the defining feature of her home planet. That, and the eternal darkness in which the Sun seemed merely another star in the magnificently starry sky.   
  
Climbing up to her favorite spot, she smiled as she surveyed the cave with eyes that glowed, ever so slightly, with the unconscious effort needed to produce her perfect night vision. I'd forgotten how much fun being a child and acting like one could be. She told the cave wall across from her with a sigh of contentment, absentmindedly tossing her head to get the dark-green hair that had fallen onto her face during the run out of her eyes.   
  
It was so long ago, my childhood. She admitted wistfully.   
  
So aren't you glad you get to experience it again, this time with the wisdom adulthood has brought? A voice asked, as a shadow disassociated itself from the cave wall and walked over, looking up at the small girl with a slight smile.   
  
It certainly has been an experience. She admitted ruefully. Although, looking back so far, I can't say that I acted with much wisdom. She peered keenly at the other. Who are you? You look familiar . . . And indeed, the tall young man with mahogany hair and bright emerald eyes did.   
  
He smiled more widely. You're only human. I'd have thought you would've figured that out by now. As for me, you may call me by whatever name you wish. Destiny . . . Fate . . . Time . . .  
  
The girl's face cleared and she jumped off the ledge and into the man's arms, stretching and changing until she had regained her adult form. Pluto! It's been a while! She laughed, garnet eyes twinkling. I can see you're still the same incorrigible, egotistical idiot as ever, though. She pulled back. But, why are you here? Is there some other evil approaching? Does it have something to do with the fact that the Time Gates still haven't cleared up?   
  
Pluto shook his head. I'm afraid I'm as much in the dark about the last two as you are, Setsa-chan. However, as to why I am here . . . He stopped, scratching his head. I know this is going to seem really mean–  
  
Setsuna sighed, rolling her eyes. I'm a big . . . little . . . she waved a hand exasperatedly, . . . whatever, you know what I mean. I can live with being insulted.   
  
He pursed his lips. Okay, but you're not going to like it. He warned. I'm here because you're finally beginning to grow up.   
  
Setsuna gave him a leery eye. Pluto, I'm over four thousand years old. Don't you think that any growing up I was possibly going to do, I could have done within that time period?   
  
Normally I would say yes, Pluto admitted, but, Setsa-chan, you became Sailor Pluto, the omniscient' senshi of time, when you were still a child! You never had a chance to grow up properly. Until now, that is.   
  
He paused. I wonder if that's the reason the Time Gates are acting up? I'll have to look into it. Anyway, the first step, for you, was to begin acknowledging that you're not omniscient. That you're as human as the rest of your friends, and as prone to errors and doing stupid things.   
  
Setsuna's smile twisted, thinking about her original decision to walk away. Yeah, I can definitely be incredibly moronic along with the best of them.   
  
Pluto squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Don't beat yourself up about it too much. You know they don't mind that it took you so long to return. They're just glad you're back.   
  
I know. She sighed.   
  
So, because you're beginning to grow up, you have reached the next stage in your development as a senshi, as our bond has reached new levels. He smiled at her. Do you remember what it was like? Your memories, as Sailor Pluto, were not as badly shattered by the Ginzuishou as those of the rest of the senshi, and yet they were eroded by an age none of the rest of the senshi had to endure. On top of that, Setsuna Meiou still remembers practically nothing, I'm sure.   
  
It can be confusing at times. Setsuna admitted ruefully. Knowing that I grew up with a relatively normal childhood at the same time I was watching over the Time Gates? That paradox is enough to make even *my* head hurt sometimes.  
  
Pluto smiled. Yes, it is rather confusing. So. He seemed to bring his attention abruptly back to the subject. Since you have now been given the opportunity to grow up the proper way, and are taking that opportunity, I now have the capability to boost you to the next level. Here. He held out his hands, sparkling with burgundy power so dark it seemed almost black, for Setsuna to take.   
  
Hesitantly at first, she reached out to take the hands, and the increase in power, offered, and gasped as she felt the warmth of that power beginning abruptly to flow through her veins. Pluto Eternal Make Up! She smiled widely as she said the phrase, the power already taking on physical form as it enwrapped her.   
  
She found herself in a short black dress, perhaps a foot longer than her fuku, with tiny short sleeves–about the length the ones on her fuku had been–and a burgundy sash tied around her waist, ending in a small bow at the back with long, flowing ribbons. Also, there were the wings. Angel wings of burgundy toned down to the garnet of her earrings and eyes, they stretched to a wondrous length and were usable as well.   
  
With childish delight, she stroked the feathers in one of them, marveling at their soft beauty. Yet, returning her attention to other matters, she withdrew her wings into nonexistent invisibility. Am I . . .  
  
Pluto smiled as he looked down at his now solemn avatar. You are the second to gain this power. This does not include Eternal Sailor Moon, as she no longer has the ability to transform to that level. Her ascendance to the level of eternal before was a matter of necessity, no more. And now that the team is no longer faced with that necessity, she must also regain that power in the proper manner.  
  
You mustn't talk of this with anyone. He continued, now unyielding. Except the other Eternal senshi. If you talk with the ones who have not yet ascended to this level, you could badly influence their own experience, possibly to the point where they would be unable to take this step.   
  
Eternal Sailor Pluto nodded. It made sense, really. And wasn't all that different from what she had always done, protecting the senshi from themselves by telling them as little of what she saw in the future as possible.   
  
Good girl. He smiled and winked. I'll see you around. Ja! He made as to walk away, disappearing as he went. Until only an ageless-looking young woman in a short black dress was left. And eventually, she too disappeared, returning to the land of wakefulness.   
  
* * *  
  
Really, it was a good thing that no one was awake in Hufflepuff. Because as the small, green-haired girl tossed and turned, brief flashes of wings could be seen. And, especially where the other senshi were concerned, it was just as well no one felt the need to ask Setsuna why and how she had grown those beautiful, garnet wings.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
11. Halloween  
  
Halloween morning dawned bright and sunny, as the entire school was filled with the delicious smell of baking pumpkin. In Charms, the Gryffindors began learning to make objects fly.   
  
No one mentioned to them that that lesson had been taught to Slytherin first, two days before. They didn't really want to have to deal with a riot on Halloween, after all. There were many more interesting things to do instead.   
  
To the well-masked surprise of all who knew her at all, Usagi was one of the first to master the spell _Wingardium Leviosa_, drawing from memories of her own experiences with flight. Soon after, Hermione mastered it as well, and the two girls exchanged congratulatory grins. Hermione had always kind of reminded Usagi of Ami, something that prompted the cautious friendship that eventually grew between the two.   
  
To be quite fair, Hermione knew that Usagi–or Serenity, as she knew the blonde girl–was hiding something, but she didn't pry. When Serenity really wanted Hermione to know, she'd tell her.  
  
Until then, she'd just content herself with teasing her friend about how much like the pictures of the ancient, mythical royalty of the moon she looked, with her strange hairstyle. And for the girl to be named Serenity–after either the queen or the crown princess at the time of the fall of the supposed Moon Kingdom–made her think that Serenity's parents had seen the legends too. And wouldn't *that* be amusing?  
  
* * *  
  
That same morning, Michiru woke to the realization that a warm body slept, snuggled up beside her. Now, in a different setting, she'd enjoy the opportunity to just lie there, except . . . for one thing, Haruka nearly always managed to roll over to the absolute opposite edge of the bed (taking all the covers with her in the process!) by the time she woke up. Usually, by this time, the only parts of them touching were fingers, if that. Also, she always, without fail, got up before Michiru in the mornings. Something had to be wrong, for this to have happened.   
  
She whispered. The rest of the dorm remained asleep. The petite blonde's eyes twitched infitesimally, as if in preparation to opening, yet remained closed. Had Michiru not seen the slow rise and fall of her beloved's chest, she might have begun worrying if Haruka had died in the night, so still did the figure remain.   
  
She asked again, a little louder, and shook the still figure a bit. Haruka, stop scaring me!   
  
I'm sorry. Came an apologetic voice, recognizably Haruka's from the first syllable, yet not coming from her mouth. I can't seem to help it. A brief impression of a laugh. This is what is called an out-of-body experience, I guess. Rather interesting really . . . The words trailed off, leaving the impression that more had been said.   
  
Oops. The voice, Haruka's voice, spoke again. It seems I also need to be in contact with someone to speak to them. Impression of a shrug. And, just as a guess, you can't see me, either. On a sigh. I really wish I knew what is causing this.  
  
Michiru laughed a little, softly. No more than I do. She replied, in as soft a voice as her queries had been.   
  
Ah, cheer up, Michi-chan. Haruka's voice had become more cheerful. I won't be like this forever! Just until . . . well, I don't know really. But this is not permanent. Mischievously. And just think of all the tricks I can pull!  
  
Michiru shook her head, a grin on her face. In some ways, she doubted Haruka would ever change. Which was, of course, what made life interesting.   
  
Still smiling, she got up and got ready to go to class later that morning. The world hadn't stopped just because Haruka's mind was temporarily disassociated from her body, after all.   
  
* * *  
  
Being, to all intents and purposes, a ghost, can be a very interesting experience. I *did* have a good guess as to why this was occurring, but I couldn't tell that to Michiru–I figured it probably had something to do with my ascension to Eternal, and I *had* promised. All that extra energy channeling itself through a body that hasn't quite gotten used to it yet . . . bound to have some sort of strange effect.   
  
I just hoped it would wear off at some point.   
  
But until it did, I figured I might as well scout around the school–see if I could find someone else who had gone Eternal, and warn them. Michiru wasn't yet, as far as I could tell. And Uranus had told me that I *would* be able to tell, so I just sighed and hoped she would soon. And flitted off to investigate.   
  
My first surprise came when I found Setsuna. You've gone Eternal too? I blurted, forgetting that I couldn't speak with her, since I wasn't in contact with any part of her.   
  
The next came when she looked up at me and frowned. Ssh, not so loud! Do you want everyone to hear?! It's supposed to be a secret. Then her eyes widened. Haruka, you're . . . floating?! How on Earth . . . ?  
  
Instant facefault. You can see me? And hear me?   
  
Of course I can. She stated, as if the whole topic was not worth mentioning. You're right there, and as far as I know I'm not going deaf or blind yet!  
  
I crossed my arms. Well, you're the first. Even Michiru couldn't see me, and she could only hear me when I touched her. Seeing Setsuna begin to smirk, I groaned and kicked at her arm. Setsuna no hentai! Not like that, as you very well know.   
  
She rubbed the place I had kicked. Hey! That hurt, you know! And grinned sheepishly. And I can't help it! You leave such openings . . . just begging me to insert a comment!   
  
I slap my head. Oi vei. And roll my eyes. What ever did I do to deserve getting stuck with you?   
  
Setsuna shrugged, still grinning. She knew I didn't *really* mean it, I had said so enough times before. Just lucky, I guess. Then she returned to seriousness. I'd think Michiru would be able to see you if anyone could.  
  
I think it probably has to do with the fact that you've gone Eternal. I suggested. By the way, what do you look like then?   
  
She smiled. How about I show you tonight? When there isn't anyone around.   
  
I grinned. Sounds great! Oh, but I must warn you–I think this, my insubstantial state, was caused somehow by the increased power I received from going Eternal. So, if you wake up disassociated from your body tomorrow morning . . . all I'm saying is, don't be too surprised.  
  
She nodded. I'll remember that. Then, she looked at her watch. Oh dear, I'm almost late! Gotta run! And run she did, while I sat there floating, trying to decide what to do next.   
  
I shrugged. I doubted I'd have any problem finding *something* interesting to do. If worst came to worst, I could always play a few tricks on Draco, after all.   
  
* * *  
  
The small girl with short, shoulder-length hair rushed down the hallway, hoping she could get back to her dorm in time to change as well as deposit her books before the feast. She looked down at her robe and sighed. At least the potion she had spilled on it wasn't eating through the fabric or anything like that yet. But still . . . she didn't think it would be quite right to go to *the* Halloween feast with a huge, growing splotch of neon green covering the front of her black robe.   
  
At one point, she thought she heard a cheerful, familiar voice and paused, slowing down. Ooh, nice color! A bit bright, though.  
  
Turning around, she saw no one in sight, though. Least of all the mischievous blonde who had been playmate and father to her when she was growing up. The second time around, that is. She sighed–was that a bit of loneliness in her sigh? Or perhaps even wistfulness?  
  
As she changed, she remembered that time they had passed on the stairs–it seemed like ages ago, now. Her accusation, in such a cold voice, and the hurt she had seen in their eyes. Hurt that changed to . . . acceptance? Almost like they had expected her to go out of her way to make the situation worse. Like they expected everyone to blame them and revile them.   
  
She paused, fully dressed but not quite ready to face the rest of the world yet, and bit a thumbnail. Did she really understand, as she had told them she was beginning to? She did, and yet she didn't. Trust of Sailor Moon was such a deeply ingrained part of her life, now–ever since she had been the only one to risk everything to rescue Sailor Saturn, the Messiah of Silence. She could have still been an enemy, but Sailor Moon–Usagi–had refused to believe that.   
  
And yet . . . Haruka-papa, Michiru-mama. Setsuna-mama. Those three had been the ones who were willing–who volunteered!–to raise the weak, tiny little baby she had become. For such a short time, they had been a family. A true family, no matter what anyone else might choose to say. Both that sense of family, and the bonds that all the Outer Senshi shared, pulled her towards them. Towards the family she had lost, that day when Uranus and Neptune had decided to forsake their team, in vain.   
  
It was funny, that she'd only now recall little things. Like the way she was sure they had been crying, when Galaxia killed them–although how she knew that, when she had been dead herself at the time, she didn't know. Perhaps, being dead, she had somehow seen the tears they cried inside, where no one else could see.  
  
How blank their eyes had been, when they accepted the gauntlets and turned back to herself and Setsuna. And how beautiful, yet deadly, the golden light had been in the moments before her death. Even now, the action sounded wrong, the killing. The Haruka and Michiru she had known would have gladly killed themselves before ever hurting her. No brag, a simple statement of fact. She knew, because she would have done the same for them without a moment's thought. Would have done the same, she thought, for any of her fellow senshi. But especially for those three. Because they were family.  
  
She had been looking out the window of her own class, idly, when she had seen them rescue the princess during the flight lesson. At first, she just shook her head, amazed once again at how klutzy Usagi always managed to act, somehow. And then, she didn't know why, but it dawned on her. Their princess would never thank them for saving her–sure it would probably only have been broken bones and lots of bruises, not her life at stake, but still.   
  
And for some reason that idea filled her with sadness. The idea that those two had done what they did so often, against the Death Busters and against Galaxia, and whenever they thought she was in trouble–whatever the truth of the matter turned out to be–and instinctively saved her again, only to receive more of the same snubs and cold shoulder treatment.   
  
They probably expected it, true. But that didn't make it any less wrong.   
  
* * *  
  
The auburn-haired senshi had changed out of her robe for the moment–it lay to one side, where she could easily don it quickly, if needed. Instead, she wore a pastel green gi, as she focused herself on a kata, first merely doing the movements against the air, next against a large black and white target she had drawn on the wall.   
  
She smiled as she noted that each strike had hit precisely where she meant it to, smiled and wiped her forehead, which had accumulated sweat from her intense concentration on the task at hand. The sweat cooled and dried quickly, however, under a cool breeze that whisked its way through the late autumn air.   
  
Good job. She turned, but there was no one there. You need to speed up a bit, though. Try not extending yourself quite as far, it will allow you to recover more quickly in order to go on to the next move. A sense of the blonde's presence filled the cool air of the courtyard, and for a moment, it seemed that the air shimmered in a certain place, not a foot to her left.   
  
When she reached out, however, the presence had dissipated, and the familiar voice spoke no more.   
  
With the slightest of shrugs, she returned to her kata. Making sure to extend herself less when the opportunity offered itself. After all, no matter what her private opinions of the other girl were–and they were very mixed up, her thoughts and feelings acting in concerted confusion–it was an undeniable fact that she was a good martial artist.   
  
Better, though admitted reluctantly in front of an audience, than Makoto. So any advice she gave–or her disembodied voice–Makoto would be inclined to follow. Really, it was only logical to do so.   
  
* * *  
  
On her way to the Great Hall–this time, in a robe that did *not* have a large neon green splotch on it–the short girl with blue-black hair passed another girl, one she recognized belatedly after the other had already passed by. One of Ami's friends, or study partners at least, that Ami said reminded her of what she had been like before she had become a senshi.   
  
Hotaru turned. Hermione, wait up! But the other girl had already passed out of her range of hearing, entering a nearby girls' bathroom. With one last look towards the Great Hall, she shrugged and headed towards the bathroom. She wasn't that hungry yet, anyway. And besides, she could always get leftovers–there always seemed to be something around for hungry children at practically any time of day or night.   
  
Inside the bathroom, she found Hermione curled in a ball on the floor sobbing. Hey, what's wrong? She asked, concerned. She had never seen Hermione like this–the other girl always seemed so much like Ami: calm, collected, and in control of the situation. Not . . . crying!  
  
Ron w-was s-saying *gulp* that I d-don't h-have any friends b-b-because I'm s-so b-boring to be around *sob, gasp* b-bec-cause all I e-ever do is s-study. She looked up, her eyes red. And it's true! I don't have any friends! Nobody likes me.  
  
Hotaru sat down beside her, laughing a bit. At least it's not like everyone hates you and is scared of you. She commented. Now *that* is really hard on the nerves. 'Specially when you're possessed by evil at the time, which gives everyone a *real* reason to be afraid of you. She shuddered. Believe me, that is one experience I *never* want to have to go through again.   
  
Then smiled. Besides, you're not totally friendless. I know my friend Ami enjoys your company–although her reminiscences about how much you remind her of what she was like when she was younger do get a bit tedious at times. And Us–Serenity like you too, I thought. She stuck out a hand, smiling in the most winning way she knew how. Hi, my name is Hotaru Tomoe. Would you like to be friends?  
  
Shy, tentative smile. Hermione Granger. I'd love to. But . . . why do you want to be friends with me?   
  
Hotaru tipped her head slightly. I like you. And it doesn't hurt that you *do* remind me, somewhat, of Ami. Besides, remember what I said about being possessed by evil? I *know* what it's like to be friendless and alone. And how much friendship means to someone in that state.  
  
Hermione smiled and stood up. Thank you for cheering me up, Hotaru. You've made me feel ever so much better. She extended a hand. Now, are you ready to go down and brave the feast in the Great Hall?   
  
Hotaru grinned back. I'd love to. She took Hermione's hand and stood up, and the two new-made friends stood there, smiling, for a moment. Until Hotaru frowned, her danger sense going into overdrive. Something big, bad, and ugly was headed their way. She moved to stand between Hermione and the door and began eying it suspiciously.   
  
What's wrong? Hermione asked.   
  
I don't know. Came the short reply.   
  
A mountain troll. Hotaru again heard the voice, and this time there was absolutely no mistaking who it belonged to.   
  
She looked around in confusion. But, where are you?   
  
Right here in front of you. Came the grim reply. We have no time for this now. Someone set a mountain troll loose in the school, and it's headed this way. Ron and Harry are chasing it, but I'm afraid they'll assume this area is empty and lock it in here. A glowing sword appeared, Uranus' Space Sword. Go into one of the empty stalls, and try to materialize your Silence Glaive. I'm being pulled back to my body as I speak, but I'll hold it off as long as I can.  
  
What's happening? Hermione asked, and Hotaru knew she hadn't heard Haruka talking.   
  
We're in trouble. She replied shortly as she ran into one of the stalls–thankfully all empty. If you know any spells that will be good against a troll, start practicing, while I try to find a good weapon.  
  
She held her hand out, in the position which she usually stood right after transforming, and hoped. Please! I need the Glaive! Somebody, something, help me to summon the Glaive, please!  
  
Finally, she felt a great sense of relief when the familiar weight fell into her hand, at the same time the door crashed open and an inhuman roar filled the room.   
  
* * *  
  
As I fell back towards my body, I was consumed with only one thought. Hotaru-chan was in danger, and I was the only one in the position to do anything about it. As I stood up, still in my pajamas, the Space Sword blazed into my hand. Frankly, I don't think I would have cared had I been naked, in such a state was I in.   
  
Now, I might have noticed if I had been in my Eternal form, so deeply ingrained had my need for secrecy become, but since I was not, nothing registered.   
  
I later learned that I passed by Draco as I blazed my way through the common room–he told me, much later, that he had thought at first an angel had flown by, so fast was I moving. I reached my upper limit and passed it, in my desperation to reach the place on time. Hotaru would be able to hold her own, but only for a limited amount of time–she is still rather frail as a human, not having trained in martial arts as much as I would have liked.   
  
I passed by Setsuna on the way. She had seen leave the room when Professor Quirrell stumbled in, stuttering about a troll, and set out to follow me. Rather hard, considering I floated aimlessly through walls and maybe even a ceiling or two. Merely the simple statement, Hotaru-chan's in danger. was all that I needed to say before she had pulled out the Time Staff and was running nearly as fast as me.   
  
When we reached the bathroom, the door was already locked and I cursed as I prepared to knock the thing down with my sword. But Setsuna's hand stayed me, as she raised her staff, transforming to Eternal Sailor Pluto without fanfare, and spoke a single word that vibrated through every part of me, even as I had no idea what the word was or what it meant.   
  
Just as simply, she became merely Setsuna again and bent over to begin picking the lock. Almost as if she saw my astonished, disbelieving look, she commented, Don't worry. I've stopped time.   
  
But . . .  
  
It's supposed to kill me? There are some advantages to having that increase in power. You could probably break the sound barrier, easy, if you tried, just by running.   
  
But . . .  
  
I may be sick for a few days, but I won't die. She finished picking the lock and prepared to restart time and open the door. Besides, this way there is a lot less property damage. That, I had to agree to. Now let's go kick some troll butt!   
  
A sentiment I completely agreed with, although I was rather surprised that Setsuna would express it in quite that way.   
  
* * *  
  
When the door opened, Hotaru was trying her hardest to hold the mountain troll off with her glaive without permanently maiming it in any way. I jumped in, in my typical impulsive way, with a strike to the head–with the flat of my sword. I was just as wary of harming it as Hotaru had been, because we didn't know yet whether it was evil, or just nasty and in the wrong place at the wrong time.   
  
Needless to say, between Hermione's spells, Hotaru's glaive, my sword, and Setsuna's staff, the ogre became a rather mangled mess of unconsciousness fairly quickly. At which point we just stood there, uncertain as to exactly what to do next.   
  
Michiru burst in. There's something . . . She then got a good look at the mess on the floor. Oh, my. It looks like you took care of it well enough.   
  
Too bad you weren't here. Setsuna commented jokingly. You could have brained it with your mirror. At which point Michiru brained Setsuna with her mirror. Hey, that hurt!   
  
Michiru snorted lightly and patted her on the shoulder. It was supposed to. Then she caught sight of me. Haruka! You're back to normal! *Glomp!*  
  
I hugged her back with, I am sure, an incredibly silly smile on my face. Yeah. Sorry I didn't have time to call you. I met Setsuna on the way here.   
  
Why did you come? She asked. If the troll was just locked in here . . . She saw Hermione and Hotaru. Ah. Never mind.  
  
And that was the way Professor McGonagall and Snape found us. Setsuna leaned against the wall with her staff hanging loosely in one hand, smirking slightly at the rest of us–a good-natured smirk, but still a smirk. Hotaru and Hermione stood side by side, directly across from the door, Hermione with her wand out, Hotaru with her glaive. Michiru with her mirror out still fiercely hugging me with my sword in my pajamas. And the troll, beaten unconscious, in the center of our little circle.   
  
Even she, the always self-possessed McGonagall, gaped. The boys told me they had locked the mountain troll in here. Alone. So what in the world just happened?!  
  
Hotaru shrugged. But it wasn't in here alone. *We* were here with it. Hermione and I were having an interesting conversation too. So when it appeared . . . she flourished her glaive, face hardening. We took care of the disturbance.   
  
The troll began to stir and, negligently, Setsuna bashed it again with her staff. So, what shall we do with it, Professor? We made sure not to kill it, just in case.  
  
The professor just shook her head. Is it really so hard to believe, that three former teens and an eleven-year-old (or four eleven-year-olds) could counter such a threat? I suppose it would be, to people who don't know us, and we do try to make sure that includes almost everyone.   
  
But the fact that a troll could just escape like that . . . I shook my head, silently, once we were alone again. Something was wrong, and that wrongness was focused around Hogwarts. Evil was coming, but it was evil of a sort we had never encountered before. Could it be Voldemort–excuse me, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? I didn't know, but I heartily wished I did.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
12. Memories  
  
The stalemate remained for a time, the five of us children looking at Professor McGonagall. The only movement came from Snape, who bent over the troll, checking on it.   
  
The professor sighed. That still doesn't explain why you three she glared at Setsuna, Michiru and me indiscriminately. Weren't in your houses like you are supposed to be.   
  
I raised an eyebrow. Au contraire, Professor McGonagall. That is the simplest part of the tale. I was not in my house because Hotaru was in trouble.   
  
Setsuna nodded firmly. Michiru sighed. Although I arrived too late to be of any help, that is why for me as well.   
  
Silence again. But what were you *thinking*, trying to challenge a troll?!   
  
Both eyebrows raised, as I slid my sword back into its sheathe and allowed it to disappear back into subspace. Something along the lines of, This would be a whole lot easier if we didn't have to worry about keeping it alive' I believe.   
  
Hotaru nodded, slightly embarrassed, as she let her glaive disappear as well. Setsuna bashed the troll one last time, for insurance, before allowing her staff to fall back into subspace, ignoring the *look* Snape gave her. Not me, since I don't have a bladed weapon. She smirked in my and Hotaru's direction, and we grinned back. More along the lines of, Oh goody. A live target to practice my staff work on.' Although I agree, it would have been easier if we could have killed it.   
  
I wasn't thinking at all. Hermione admitted, face red.   
  
I snorted, but Hotaru beat me to the punch. What are you talking about? Thinking to levitate the club so that the troll couldn't use it to bash *us* with was pure genius!   
  
. . . The professor still looked very unhappy. That was still a very unwise thing for you to do. You could have been killed.   
  
We could have been impressed. Begging your pardon, Professor McGonagall, Hotaru said, ever polite, That troll was a couple of highly fatal weapons short of having even a measurable chance at killing us.   
  
The three of us nodded our agreement. We're not invincible or anything, I continued. But it would take something considerably more powerful than *that* to kill us. Quicker, too.   
  
The professor sighed. Very well. I still say you were lucky . . . Hah! Fat chance. But not many first years could take on a mountain troll and win. She sighed, as if what she was to do next came hard to her. Five points to Gryffindor, five to Ravenclaw, five to Hufflepuff, and five to Slytherin. The last words especially seemed to stick in her mouth.   
  
Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go–students are finishing their feasts in their houses.   
  
We left. When I was on the threshold of the door, Snape's voice stopped me. Haruka Ten'ou?   
  
I turned slowly. Yes, Professor?   
  
His question was again, the last one I would have expected. Why are you still in your pajamas? The man sounded genuinely curious.   
  
I shrugged. There seemed no reason not to answer his question other than pure spite. Because I was stuck in bed the whole day. I only just got up. I turned and walked away.   
  
* * *  
  
Three people sat in a cluttered office. So that's what happened. Professor McGonagall finished. She shook her head. Other than Miss Granger, they seemed genuinely surprised at the idea that a ten-foot-tall mountain troll could hurt or even kill them.  
  
Snape nodded. I think it's more than just the youthly belief in your own invincibility. They didn't act like that at all, really. From what I could tell, they were extremely calm throughout the experience, instead of the wild excitement or extreme terror I would have predicted. As if they had done it all before.   
  
Dumbledore nodded. There's something strange about those girls. Not evil . . . just strange.   
  
They're very loyal to each other. McGonagall stated softly. When I asked them why they were there, the blonde replied, Hotaru was in trouble,' as if that explained everything.  
  
What I'd like to know, Snape frowned, is how Haruka figured that out before it was too late. She didn't attend any of her classes today–I checked with the other teachers–and showed up in the bathroom in just her pajamas. There should have been no way she could have known.  
  
Or the teal-haired girl. McGonagall added. She evidently arrived too late to do anything, but the fact that she got there at all . . . when there should have been no way she could have known the troll was in that particular bathroom, much less that her friends were fighting it.   
  
Dumbledore nodded. These girls bear watching. Nothing too overt, just . . . keep an eye on them. Turned to Snape. You're going to have the hardest time, probably, what with two of them being in your house.   
  
Two of them, two friends, and a pet snake with an awful sense of humor. Snape summarized gloomily. Evidently, Haruka and her group declared war on Draco and his cronies the first time they set eyes on each other. Slight, lopsided smile. Haruka has a snake on her side, though, so she can get it to do most of the dirty work for her. I'm pretty sure both she and Michiru are Parseltongues.   
  
_Another facet to add to the general air of mystery._ Dumbledore's eyebrows were raised. It wasn't often they had a Parseltongue, much less two in the same year. _And fast friends at that. If I were more suspicious, I'd be seeing some sort of enemy conspiracy right now._ He smiled as he let the two teachers and house heads get back to their own business. He had his own memory of the duo in question. _Whatever their allegiance, those two sure can sing well._  
  
* * *  
  
The roof seemed empty, silently waiting beneath a beautiful starry sky. A shadow detached itself from the wall and went to the middle of the roof to sit down, looking up at the sky. Her red eyes glowed, ever so slightly, as she waited.   
  
After a time, she considered getting up, then decided not to. Decided to wait just a little bit longer. And, finally, her patience was rewarded. You're late.   
  
Soft snort of laughter. We never set a time. Haruka and Setsuna powered up at nearly the same time. When they finished, a softly glowing nimbus of light surrounded both of them, allowing them to see each other. Nice wings. Haruka complimented.   
  
Setsuna's eyes crinkled. I could say the same. In fact, consider it said.  
  
Haruka frankly stared at her friend, trying to take in most of the details. Finally, Burgundy and black with a dash of garnet. Only to be expected, I suppose. Then, more softly, It looks really good on you, Setsuna.   
  
Setsuna smiled. For the first time I remember, I can honestly say that you look *good* in a dress. Beautiful, really. It's a nice change from the handsome young man you always pretended to be.   
  
Each reached out at the same time, right hand to right hand, identical rings winking in the soft nimbus of light cast by both. Then, as the two nimbuses collided, they flared, a brilliant blast of light that threw both backwards, away from each other, to fall detransformed to the solid tile of the roof.   
  
* * *  
  
Book in hand, a small Haruka walked towards a particularly large tree, her favorite hangout, whistling cheerfully. At the tree, she looked up before beginning to climb. What she saw there made her gasp in indignation and, picking up a nearby acorn, she threw it towards the limb on which she usually sat.   
  
Hey, that hurt! Came a protest. What did you do that for? The other person swung down, flipping off the branch to land a safe distance away from Haruka, still rubbing her right arm as she glared at the blonde girl with disconcertingly red eyes.   
  
You were in my spot. Haruka glared right back. My *special* spot. The place I *always* sit when I come out here to read.   
  
The other girl cocked her head. Well, at least you have good taste in trees. She commented.   
  
Haruka smiled suddenly, looking up into the leaves of the old tree. Yeah, it is a nice tree, isn't it. Her look at the other girl softened. I suppose you can't be too bad if you like reading in trees. Even if you *did* take my special spot. I'm Princess Uranus. She stuck out a hand.   
  
Princess Pluto. The other girl stuck her own hand out, and they shook hands. But I can't be friends with you. The other girl warned. I'm not supposed to be friends with anyone.   
  
Why? Friends are fun! Haruka protested. She rolled her eyes. Not that I *have* any, but still . . .   
  
My mother told me I shouldn't become friends with anyone, because when I become Sailor Pluto and Guardian of the Time Gates, I'm going to be stuck there, watching everyone I ever knew grow old and die, so it's better that I don't get attached to anyone.   
  
Gee, that must be lonely. Haruka commented, then brightened. But my mom told me that I'll live forever unless I die first, and that princesses like us don't have to worry about growing old. So I can be your friend.   
  
Pluto shook her head. No friends. I promised my mom.   
  
Haruka sighed. Okay, then, I won't be your friend. I'll just be . . . an a . . . acq . . . acquaintance! That's it, I'll be your acquaintance.   
  
Pluto smiled back. Then I'll be your acquaintance too.   
  
* * *  
  
Setsuna stood off to the side in the shadows, and watched everyone else at the ball have fun. _Sometimes,_ She thought angrily, _being aloof really, *really* SUCKS!_  
  
A deep voice sounded near her ear, distracting her from her annoyed meanderings. May I have this dance?   
  
Setsuna turned to meet the blue-green eyes of one of the only people she had ever allowed herself to become close to. Uranus! What do you think you are doing?! She hissed.   
  
Her just grinned at her. Asking you for a dance. What does it look like I'm doing? With that, the slightly taller blonde took her hand and drew her into the light and onto the dance floor.   
  
She stared stonily at her friend's countenance. Uranus, you are completely insane. That's the only thing that can account for it. You lost whatever mind you had in the first place.   
  
Oh, lighten up, Pluto. Besides, you're the most beautiful girl here, how could I not ask you for a dance?   
  
she stated, will get you precisely nowhere. And you're a girl too, in case you hadn't noticed. You're supposed to be over against the other wall fluttering your eyelashes at every guy that passes by.   
  
Like you were? Came the completely incorrigible answer.   
  
For once, Setsuna didn't have a comeback ready. And with a flourish, Uranus ended the dance. Look, it's over already. And you didn't stumble once. Aren't you so proud of yourself?  
  
Without answering, Setsuna turned and (gracefully) stalked back to her shadowed corner. Once there, the same voice, belonging to the same person, commanded her to Move over. If you get to escape from sitting in the spotlight like that, then so do I.   
  
Setsuna glared at the blonde, then sighed and giggled. Ah, I give up. It's impossible to stay aloof and cold around you. You're too annoying.  
  
Uranus grinned and bowed, knowing that Setsuna's perfect night sight would catch the motion in shadow much darker than the one they were standing in. I do but live to serve. She replied.  
  
Setsuna laughed, as Uranus had meant her too. _Sometimes being aloof just takes too much work._ She decided. _It's just . . . pointless with Uranus around. She has an uncanny knack for doing or saying just exactly the thing guaranteed to break my mask to entirely unviable pieces. So why do I even try?_  
  
* * *  
  
Haruka sighed soulfully. I think I'm in love.   
  
Setsuna snorted. Well one thing's for sure, you sure are *acting* like it. She paused. Or at least like some silly schoolgirl mooning over her first crush.   
  
Haruka took out a small beanbag she reserved for exactly this purpose and threw it at her unfaithful friend.   
  
Setsuna, used to this, caught it with ease and no change in facial expression. So, do I know this lucky person? One corner of her mouth twitched slightly. I don't suppose she happens to have teal hair and cerulean eyes.   
  
Haruka's mouth dropped open. How did you know?   
  
It was obvious. Setsuna stated flatly, although the smile was getting harder to suppress. To anyone who knows you well, you had all the signs. The soulful sighs–which are really beginning to get on my nerves, by the way, she caught a second bean bag, All your thoughts are tinged with a slight but *very* noticeable pink, you lose track of what you're saying at times and just stare off into space even *more* often than usual. You get incredibly self-conscious and nervous whenever she is around . . .   
  
Alright, enough. Haruka sighed with annoyance. You've made your point. But what should I do?   
  
You could try telling her. Setsuna pointed out, one eyebrow raised. That tends to work most of the time, I'd think. Or I suppose you could always just keep on sighing soulfully, moaning, and doing nothing about the situation. She deliberately sidestepped the final bean bag thrown and let her smile free. Now, I've got a paper to write for history, so I'll be going now.   
  
. . . _That was not at all helpful, Setsuna. And you know it._ Haruka glared after her departing friend before turning her mind back towards more pleasant pursuits. Such as contemplating a certain teal-haired princess. She sighed, once again soulfully, as her eyes turned back towards the sky. The beautiful cerulean sky of Uranus, the same color as Neptune's beautiful blue eyes . . .  
  
* * *  
  
I thought you'd come by here. Her face pale, her eyelids drooping and her mask slipping, Setsuna still tried to summon a smile for one of the only people who meant something special to her.   
  
As soon as Haruka say her friend's face, she knew something was horribly wrong. Se–Pluto, what's wrong? The two had exchanged real names, a show of trust when most knew them only by their planetary designation, several years earlier, shortly before Haruka and Michiru had fallen in love.   
  
Even at that present time, only five people knew Setsuna's name–Haruka, Michiru, Hotaru, her mother, and Queen Serenity.   
  
Once she saw the worried face of her friend, Setsuna broke down completely. Growing more and more worried, Haruka just stood there, arms around her green-haired companion as the other girl cried her heart out. Finally, finally it stopped and Setsuna wiped her eyes, standing away. I guess I'm not cut out to be Pluto after all. She smiled slightly, even then the mask beginning to slide back into place.   
  
Oh, come on Pluto. Everyone needs to release their emotions now and then. It's only human.   
  
But I'm not supposed to be human. The mask was firmly back in place now. I'm the Guardian of Time. She shivered, then finally latched back onto Haruka, like she was a life raft in the middle of a raging sea. I can't do it, Haruka. I can't stand there and watch everyone die. I can't be alone for so long, not and stay sane.  
  
Haruka smoothed her hair. Now, remember what I said when we first met? I haven't died yet, and I don't intend to. She smiled reminiscently. Have I ever apologized for throwing that acorn at you?   
  
A watery giggle. No. And you never apologized for all the bean bags you threw at me either. Then the return of solemn sadness and the edge of hysteria. But you will die. Everyone will except me, because I'll be locked away at the Gates of Time. The others–the inner senshi, the princess, the queen, everyone else is already dead. Beryl attacked. Mom forbade me to interfere, then threw herself into the fray along with everyone else. She died too. Her voice was bleak, the voice of someone who has seen too much and desperately wished she hadn't. The Queen sent all the senshi to the future, except none of our parents are going. It's just us, except me, because I have to become the Keeper of Time. Pause. You and Neptune will probably be picked up pretty soon now, by the queen's spell. But I had to see you one last time.   
  
Haruka tilted her friend's head up and put a finger to her lips, looking directly into the other's red eyes. Ssh. Everything will turn out in the end. You'll see. But Setsuna, I want you to do one thing. Pause, to make sure her green-haired friend was paying complete attention. I want you to stay sane for me. And your mother was right, becoming close to anyone will just cause you pain, with the job you must do. So I want you to forget everything about me, about anyone that ever really mattered to you. Some day, we'll meet again. That I promise. But I don't want you grieving for me between now and then. All right?   
  
Haruka stepped away as a bubble of some sort began to form around her. She reached out to friend who had always meant the world to her, from the moment she first met the eyes of the girl she had thrown an acorn at, so many years before. Setsuna, too, reached out and for a brief moment, the tips of their fingers touched. Then, the world went white.  
  
* * *  
  
On the rooftop, all was silent. Then one person picked herself up heavily, as if weighed down by the weight of all the extra memories. As usual, the first thing said was unexpected. Too bad I don't have a beanbag with me to throw at you. Pause, as said figure reached into her subspace pocket only to come up with . . . a beanbag. Oh, good. I have one after all. That being said, she halfheartedly threw it towards the other figure, still lying there ominously still.   
  
A hand raised just high enough to catch the flying bag. Hah hah. Very funny. A second figure stood up and, in the darkness, the two looked towards each other. That was . . . different. Setsuna finally commented.   
  
Haruka rubbed her head. Yeah. That's . . . one way of saying it, I suppose. I wonder why it happened.   
  
Setsuna frowned, forgetting that Haruka's night sight was not as perfect as her own. I get the feeling we were . . . bonded, in some way. Sorta like the one Usagi and Mamoru have, where they can feel if the other is in trouble . . . only stronger.   
  
Picks up thoughts and emotions as well, maybe? Haruka asked, but Setsuna did not see her lips move.   
  
Something like that. I wonder why me, instead of . . .  
  
Different sort of bond. Haruka answered immediately, falling into the pattern of mindspeech with simple ease. I think the two of us bonded because we knew each other so much longer and better than we knew either of the other two. Probably, Michiru and Hotaru are bonded in the same manner. As for the inners . . . who can tell?  
  
I wonder if we'll go Eternal in pairs as well? Or if our being the first two and being bonded as well is just a fluke.  
  
Only one way to find out. Haruka admitted with a shrug. We wait and see. Want to go find a nice tree to sit and read in?   
  
Setsuna accepted the switch back to verbal speech as easily as she had initiated the switch to thought-speech. Maybe in the *yawn* morning. And only if you promise . . . not to . . . throw . . . acorns. She slid to the roof, fast asleep as soon as she finished speaking.   
  
Haruka laughed softly as she knelt beside the unconscious form of her friend. Now that we've remembered it, I don't think she'll ever let me forget that incident. She looked around at the abundance of towers scattered over the roof of Hogwarts. Well, Slytherin is the only house I know of based in a *dungeon* area, so Hufflepuff has to be *one* of these towers. Another look around. This is going to take *forever*! She powered up, eliminating the nimbus of light that automatically appeared around her when she was in the dark, and picked Setsuna up. Opening her wings, she flew towards the nearest tower.   
  
* * *  
  
After a great deal of flying around, I finally found the Hufflepuff girls' dorm. I knew that was what it was, because I could see Rei and Makoto, as well as a couple other girls that looked slightly familiar. Fortunately, the lights were off, as I flew in the open window and detransformed, looking for an empty bed.   
  
Setsuna, is that you? Makoto's sleepy voice asked, and I cursed silently as the other girl got up and stumbled over, blinking blearily. Oh, Haruka. What are you doing here?   
  
Rather sickly smile. Dropping Setsuna off. We were up on the roof talking, when she suddenly collapsed. I guess all the stress of the day got to her. I looked around very carefully to make sure everyone else was asleep, before continuing, She'll probably be very sick tomorrow. Either that, or in a coma of some kind. Please oh please don't ask me how I got in . . .  
  
Makoto's eyes popped wide open. I didn't sense any threat except . . . Oh. You were fighting the troll that showed up, weren't you. Her inflections made the question a statement. She sighed. I should have known. C'mon, her bed is over here.   
  
That's not all. I shook my head, forgetting that Makoto's night sight was not even as good as mine–and the fact that, with her back turned to me, it would very likely have done little good anyway. She also stopped time tonight.   
  
At those five small words, Makoto froze and whirled. Thankfully, she had the sense to keep the volume of her voice down, although the sheer intensity made up for that lack.   
  
I tried to talk her out of it! I defended, thinking mocking thoughts about my eloquence' when I tried. And she did swear that it would *not* kill her like it did last time. Although she admitted she'd probably be sick for a couple days afterwards. I sighed. Makoto . . . take good care of her. And if you think of some way I can help, let me know. I turned to leave.   
  
Haruka . . . Makoto's voice stopped me. . . . why?   
  
I faced her. Excepting Michiru, Setsuna is the closest friend I have ever had. And although in an entirely platonic way, I love her at least as much as I love Michiru. I don't want to lose her.   
  
* * *  
  
And as I collapsed into bed that night, I realized I had been entirely truthful in what I told Makoto. I had always known that Setsuna meant a lot to me, but I had never realized quite how much. My was the best friend I had ever had, both in this life and in the other.   
  
I love Michiru with all my heart, but if I lost Setsuna now, I'd be at least as devastated as if I lost Michiru. Different forms of love, but the same intensity. I smiled as I remembered Setsuna's tart impatience when I was mooning over Michiru, but also how genuinely glad she had been when I found out the beautiful Neptunian princess felt the same way.   
  
If I dreamed that night, the dreams were deemed not worth remembering, and I awoke refreshed the next morning.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
13. A Game of Catch  
  
The next day was a Thursday. I woke up rested, refreshed, and ready to take on the world. Much to Michiru's relief, I actually *did* wake up, instead of going ghost the way I had the previous day. Even the prospect of flying lessons with Gryffindor that afternoon couldn't put a dent in my good mood.   
  
I even greeted Draco civilly–almost warmly. The poor boy looked like he was about to faint. I decided that I'd have to do that more often–it was almost as fun to watch as when the Bloody Baron freaked out.   
  
Then I saw Setsuna drift by and smiled even more largely. Hi, Setsuna. I greeted her through our link.   
  
She paused, backing up and drifting inside. Any particular reason you're so happy, this morning?  
  
Pause, think for a moment. Nope! Not one I can think of. In fact, I should be miserable, seeing as your body is probably having a nasty time of it right now–and we *are* bonded.   
  
Thoughtful frown. I woke up more cheerful than usual this morning too, actually. It may be an aftereffect of regaining all those memories. And if the link is mind-to-mind . . . usually, the mind reflects what the body is feeling–but right now mine are separated, so any physical input would necessarily be muted . . . and thus, my physical discomfort, if any, is not intruding to make you feel awful because I don't feel awful either.   
  
Slowly turning over her explanation to make sure it made sense, I hesitantly nodded. That makes sense.  
  
She grinned and started drifting away again. There may be hope for you yet! Now excuse me, I have a class to catch . . .  
  
I shook my head as I headed on to my own classes. It figured, that Setsuna wouldn't let a little thing like being the equivalent of a ghost stop her from going to her classes–especially as interesting as classes at Hogwarts *usually* were.   
  
* * *  
  
The black-haired girl–smaller than average even when she was the same age as everyone else–sighed as she gazed at a photo. A picture of the four of them, before they had been separated–before two of them had been killed and brought back to life. Before they had all become eleven years old again. Just . . . before.   
  
They had been happy then–happier together, just the four of them, than any of them had ever been alone. She had reveled in the closeness, cherished it . . . she had very few memories, anymore, of what her father had been like before they had both been possessed by evil. The other three had loved the sense of family too, she had always believed–Setsuna, tired of the loneliness of being Guardian of Time, where she had no one to talk to, to be around just for the sake of it, always acting as the guiding force, the absolute authority she wielded making everyone afraid to touch. Haruka and Michiru, who had each other–who had defied and cut themselves off from their own families just so they could be together, for them to have a family again must have been wonderful.   
  
She thought back to the previous night. Fighting together again had been wonderful, even if Michiru had shown up too late to help. Just being in the same room together . . . it exhilarated her, made her believe that she could take on the universe. They were meant to be together, bonded together as outer senshi in a bond that transcended all other loyalties. Putting the picture away regretfully, she nodded, her eyes sad. Although she hated to do this . . . her mind had been made up.   
  
By some strange twist of fate, the one person she was preparing to look for passed by just then. Gathering her courage, she asked softly, Serenity-hime? May I speak with you for a moment?   
  
Her back having stiffened at the suffix, then relaxed when she realized who it was, Usagi nodded warily. Go ahead, Hotaru.   
  
Hotaru closed her eyes briefly before focusing them completely on her blonde-haired princess. I . . . I've been thinking lately. Believe me when I say that I've *always* believed in you. You can do anything you set your mind to, that I am absolutely sure of. But . . . She sighed. Despite my differences with them, I belong with my family. Much like you, they were there for me when no one else was. And . . . I love them. Perhaps more than I love my biological father even, because I can no longer clearly remember the way he was . . . before.   
  
Keeping her eyes trained on her princess, she tried to project as much sincerity as possible in her voice and in her eyes, hoping desperately that the other girl would understand. I always have and I always *will* believe in you. Believe that, believe me. But . . . I figured it out for sure yesterday. I belong with them. We belong together . . . we have an unbreakable bond between us and . . . I can't deny that bond any longer. By your leave? She bowed, as low as she could go without risking falling flat on her face.   
  
The other girl's lips twisted into a warped half-smile. I . . . can't say I'm happy, Hotaru. But I think I can understand. And even if I couldn't . . . there's no way I could stop you from leaving, even if I was planning to try. Go now, and . . . be well, Hotaru-chan. The black-haired girl nodded and, with a last look, walked off. Usagi, also known as Serenity, also known (to a certain few) to be the future queen of the world, watched sadly as her ranks were again decimated by one.   
  
Be happy to be together again, and be a friend to my daughter. Grasp that happiness that I don't think I'll ever find until we are all together . . . not again, because we were never *really* together in the first place. We just thought so. With a sigh she turned towards her own class. We just thought and wished . . . and hoped. But . . . dreams are not reality, no matter how much you wish for them to be.   
  
Slight smile, rather twisted. Hey, I'm not bawling my eyes out. Who knows, perhaps I am finally beginning to grow up, after all. Genuine, now. Oh well. Happens to everyone, some time.  
  
* * *  
  
Haruka. Michiru. We both froze and turned slowly, at the sound of the voice we thought we would never hear directed towards us again. I debated bowing, then decided not to, with so many people around who would not understand. So I stood, silently, Michiru to my right and slightly behind.   
  
Usagi seemed to be carefully choosing the words she was about to say. I . . . would like to thank you for watching out for me last time. Furthermore, I think I understand now why you did what you did. And this time, we knew she wasn't speaking of our impromptu rescue. No doubt was left in our minds that she might, in a way understand, but she did not in any way approve.   
  
Her eyes serious, she continued, But for the time being, we must remain apart. I cannot trust anyone who refuses as consistently as you have to believe in me and trust in me. Perhaps someday, you will learn to have faith in something or someone other than yourselves, but that will be your decision. Until you can do that, until you can place your trust and your belief and your faith in me, we will not truly be a team, and there is no longer any reason even to pretend that.   
  
I nodded. I could understand where she was coming from, and I agreed. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Serenity-hime. If I ever do find faith in someone, or in something, I think you'll be one of the first to know. I looked at her, face to face. We could do that now, I hadn't hit my growth spurt so we were still about the same height. But even though we were physically smaller, younger, Usagi had in her something that she had never really possessed as a teen. A spark, sort of. Something that told me she too was beginning the painful process of growing up, growing straight. Growing the way she should have grown, in another time and another place.   
  
Already, she was turning into someone to be proud of. And I was happy for her, and for the people who had the right to feel pride in her. But . . . my problem still remained. I could not trust in anything, even in this seemingly stable world, except for myself–and Michiru. Always Michiru.   
  
Now, I knew within my heart, Setsuna as well. She had watched over us all for so long, but that time had passed, I hoped, when she had to forget everyone in order to keep her hold on sanity. When she had to live on when everyone else died.   
  
None of us were alone anymore–Michiru, Setsuna, and I. We had each other now. And as long as I had that precious love and friendship, that precious bond, I could forget, for a time, a young girl with long blonde hair who tripped over her feet and laughed joyously at life. A young woman with darkness at the back of her eyes who willingly sacrificed herself for the world, time after time.   
  
I'd like to think I'd have done the same in her place, but . . . ah, who am I kidding? Certainly not myself. I would have botched everything from the beginning. We are too different, she and I.   
  
* * *  
  
Michiru looked after Usagi, looked at the place where she had been, and sighed. Her princess was right . . . as she nearly always tended to be, in matters such as these. What did she have faith in? She trusted herself in most cases . . . her music, always. Music was the solid, immutable object in the raging sea that formed the world. Even if she could no longer play an instrument or sing, the music would still be there for her. Likewise the sea–it was in her blood, so completely a part of her that it would be impossible not to have faith in it. And Haruka.   
  
She watched, with a gentle smile on her face, as Haruka dashed off to get her broomstick. Like the air, Haruka was always there for her. And she was always there for Haruka. Anything else would be impossible.   
  
Despite her new, more serious side, the one that sat and pondered philosophical thoughts, the one that enjoyed more quiet pursuits, Haruka was still the same irreverent, speed-loving blonde she had fallen in love with several years and a reality ago.   
  
She took her own broom with much more decorum. Decorum, grace . . . bah. It always seemed to fall upon her to be the more serious side, the cool voice of wisdom in a group of hot-heads. Well . . . a group of one, at least. She was the graceful one, the beautiful one, the deep one. In Ami, sometimes, she saw a shallower reflection of the person she displayed on the stage of life. Intelligent, quiet, deep . . . thoughtful, where her teammates were rash.   
  
Some time, she'd like to just forget about being the intelligent, thoughtful one. Do something stupid just for the sake of doing so. But without her reputation, those characteristics that had come to mean even to herself, what would she have left?  
  
Haruka. She would still have Haruka. And that would be enough.  
  
* * *  
  
I was flitting around on my broomstick when I had the idea. Not a terribly *original* idea, no, but it would probably be fun. I brought one of my small bean bags out of my subspace pocket and hefted it once or twice. Out in the sunlight, it was a beautiful navy blue, manufactured with a quality of cloth that no longer existed anymore. But more importantly, it was fairly light and rather noticeable. I lowered nearer to the ground and called, Chibiusa, Michiru, Lindsey? Feel like playing a game of catch?   
  
Chibiusa considered for a moment or two. Not this time, sorry. I think I want to get more practice just flying first.   
  
Lindsey nodded reluctantly and Michiru firmly. Same here.   
  
Harry would probably be willing to play with you. A soft voice said, and I turned to face Hermione, the Gryffindor girl who had helped us against the troll. He's such a natural at flying, I don't think he needs any more practice just flying.   
  
Thanks, Hermione. I sped on, and soon found the other boys. While both were initially reluctant–probably mostly due to the fact that I am, after all, a Slytherin, Harry finally agreed.   
  
And so the game was on. If one person let the bag drop to the ground, they gained a point. Whoever reached a certain number of points first, lost, and the other won by default–after minimal discussion, we decided on three.   
  
Setsuna showed up at one point, since Hufflepuff had the afternoon off. She looked splendid with her garnet wings fully extended–although, of course, I was the only one who could see her. She decided not to join in the game, however, but instead to try to tutor Usagi somewhat–she could fly fairly well, but her lack of confidence constantly pushed her into making silly mistakes she could have otherwise avoided. Setsuna's presence steadied her, boosted her confidence in herself, even without the gentle suggestions of help.   
  
Neither of us had made a point yet when Setsuna gasped, her aura of shock directed towards me and picked up upon instantly. Absentmindedly, I looked down, only to greet the sight of my body falling away from myself, getting ever closer to the ground as I watched.   
  
In slow motion to my suddenly adrenaline-enhanced eyes, I rushed towards my falling body, transforming and opening my wings to brake myself once I caught it. Setsuna, too, came to help, catching the broomstick only moments before it broke against the unyielding ground. I sent her a wordless burst of thanks, laying my body against the ground before rushing over to let Michiru know what happened.   
  
She was a step ahead. As I approached, she turned her eyes in the direction of my still body and said, It happened again, didn't it.   
  
Precisely. I reached out to take her hand, enabling the link between us. Luckily, Setsuna's here too–she's the one who managed to catch my broom.  
  
Setsuna is doing this now too? Who will be next, I wonder?   
  
No clue. There are certain warnings though . . . Setsuna was the only one who could see me, yesterday, and now she's doing it. So if you start seeing either of us, it will probably start happening to you, too.  
  
Nod. I'll remember that. Sigh. I guess I'd better go explain this to Madam Hooch.   
  
Allow me. I want to see if I can talk' to non-senshi in this form, too.  
  
I rushed forward and touched Madam Hooch. Excuse me, ma'am? No response. Ma'am, this it me, Haruka, speaking. You don't need to worry, I'm perfectly . . . oh, never mind. Still no response. I sighed. You're stupid, you're ugly, and your mother dresses you funny. Pause. Just in case you can hear, I *am* joking.  
  
Don't worry, didn't work for me either. A voice nearby sighed, Setsuna's voice. She floated crosslegged above my body. Although I didn't think to insult her in quite *that* way. Where did that come from?  
  
*Snicker* My calculus teacher used to tell our entire class that, when he felt we were being inordinately slow . . . it was a blast. I really enjoyed that class.  
  
I informed Michiru that she would have to explain things after all. I don't think Madam Hooch really believed her–until I picked up my body, so that is seemed to be floating several feet above the ground. And even then she eyed Michiru suspiciously . . . probably trying to figure out where she had hidden the wand.   
  
* * *  
  
What's happening? Lindsey asked Chibiusa, curiously, as Michiru held a conversation with the air and then walked over to try to convince Madam Hooch of . . . something.   
  
Shrug. I don't know. But evidently this has happened before . . . Michiru didn't sound worried, just slightly annoyed.   
  
Your friend *normally* faints while flying through the air on a broomstick, playing catch with a Gryffindor? And her body then somehow slows itself down so that it doesn't hit the ground hard, and neither does the broomstick?   
  
Er . . . I didn't think so, but if this was something bad happening, Michiru would *know* and she'd be a great deal more worried.   
  
Actually the first time I did this, I was safe in bed. Michiru figured it out because I didn't get up before she did. Haruka's amused voice corrected, seemingly coming out of nowhere.   
  
Ah. That is definitely a better place to–what is it? Have an out of body experience? Than flying through the air at high speeds. Lindsey nodded, face contemplative. Much better.   
  
I agree. Setsuna's voice added, directed towards Lindsey. Although I would like to know how you can hear us. I wasn't aware that normal people could. Sense of suppressed laughter. We certainly tried hard enough.  
  
Lindsey shrugged. That's simple enough. I'm not normal. Her tone, while superficially light, made it clear that any further questions asked would not be answered.   
  
* * *  
  
When Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape came down to the field to pick up their individual houses, they came upon an interesting sight. On the ground, unhurt and undisturbed by anyone was the body of one of the girls who had defeated the troll the night before. The only person near the body was a girl–from Slytherin, Snape recognized her–with short blue-black hair, who was relaxing and whistling a merry little tune that neither of them recognized.   
  
And up in the air . . . McGonagall rubbed her eyes to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was . . . Harry Potter playing catch (and doing a wonderful job at it, the boy would make a great Seeker–hey, the Gryffindor Seeker's space had gone empty and had not yet been filled . . . hm . . .) with a curved sword and a stylized staff?!  
  
The blue-black-haired girl looked up when the two professors came close. Harry's winning right now, I think. He has one point, and Haruka and Setsuna both have two. The ball bounced against the ground after the staff failed to catch it. Ooh. That must smart on her dignity. Setsuna has three points now–the idea is to get the fewest points possible. That means she's out of the game, I guess. And indeed, after tossing the ball back upward, the staff drifted away.   
  
Snape was the first to close his mouth. But . . . Haruka is right here! He pointed to the still body on the ground.   
  
And Setsuna is in her bed in Hufflepuff, suffering from a fever of some sort, I believe. Or perhaps she's been moved to the infirmary wing by now. But their minds are both here. The staff disappeared, but Lindsey's eyes continued to track. Until she blinked and returned her gaze to the two professors. Or, rather, Setsuna's is leaving now . . . she's probably going to see if she can return to her body.   
  
Why doesn't Haruka do the same?   
  
Because she doesn't feel like it? I dunno, honestly. Although I get the impression that they can't return to their bodies voluntarily. You'd have to ask her to be sure, of course . . . except she can't speak to normal people. As far as I know, the only ones she can speak to in this state are Setsuna, Michiru, Usagi, Serenity, and myself. There may be others, too, but I'm not sure.   
  
Why the curved sword? Snape asked.   
  
Family heirloom of some sort, I think. I haven't really asked. But she brought it out so that Harry would have a better idea of where to aim, as well as having a better idea of where the ball will be coming from. To make things more fair for him.   
  
_A Slytherin with ideas of fair play. For once, this crop of new young Slytherins might hold something better than the usual trouble-makers and bullies. Well, what with fair-minded Slytherins, Harry Potter, and students that have out of body experiences evidently at random, this is shaping up to become one of the most interesting years in quite a while._ Professor McGonagall smiled. _And I really *must* remember to talk to Wood about adding Potter to the team._  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
14. Revelations  
  
Amazingly enough, I managed to get through the next few days without going ghost again. Setsuna did so once more, but it was during one of our study sessions, so no uproar commenced. She also recovered completely from her stopping of time within a day, much to my relief–and hers as well, I think. We both kept our eyes out for bewildered senshi wandering around in their Eternal forms as , but evidently no one else had gone Eternal yet.   
  
And we secretly hoped that just maybe, our bodies had finally permanently adjusted to the change in energy levels, and there would be no more inconvenient episodes of discorperation. For almost an entire week straight, it looked like our hopes might even become reality. Until History of Magic that Wednesday.   
  
We were discussing musical history, and the impact wizards had had on music throughout the ages, so for once I was completely awake and rather interested. It had never occurred to me that famous classical musicians might have been wizards as well . . . although, in the case of Mozart, it was his parents who were wizards. Apparently, they never told him, because he had not even a scrap of magical talent . . . instead, he was literally a musical genius and prodigy.   
  
This discussion wasn't everyone's idea of a good time, of course. Lindsey and Chibiusa, while not quite asleep, were rather drowsy. Draco, of course, had dropped off less than five minutes into the discussion. And then, about three-quarters of the way into the class period, my head fell to my desk–and I didn't go with it. With a large sigh of exasperation, I went ahead and floated the rest of myself out of my body and went back to listening to what Professor Binns was saying, sitting crosslegged about a foot above my head.   
  
Michiru shot a look in my direction when she heard my head hit the desk, but evidently came to the correct conclusion quickly, rolling her eyes and returning her attention to the lecture. Then, far too soon, class came to an end. And, almost as if we had rehearsed it, she walked over to my desk and picked up my body. I'll return it to our dorm on my way to Transfiguration, 'kay?   
  
Sounds good to me. I returned with a sigh of relief. My strength was greatly decreased in this form, and I had *not* looked forward to having to lug my body all the way back–especially since I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get in. Thanks, Michiru.  
  
As she walked out, I turned my attention to our ghostly teacher and sighed. I don't suppose you can hear me, either. This is so *stupid*!  
  
Just then, Setsuna wandered in. Ah. So I was right, it did happen to you too. Glare of frustration at the ground. When will this stop?! And *why* can't we talk to anyone except our fellow senshi? And Lindsey too, Kami-sama alone knows why.   
  
An expression was appearing on the professor's face, one I almost didn't catch in my wholehearted agreement with Setsuna. One of . . . amusement and surprise? I turned the whole of my attention to him and stalked over. You *can* hear us? Why didn't you tell me when I first asked?  
  
Yes, the smile was definitely there. And it was growing. I wanted to see if you had anything else interesting to add. Especially considering your state . . . I don't see many beings completely made of energy anymore.  
  
But isn't that what a ghost is? And there are plenty of ghosts around here. Oh, by the way Haruka, Peeves can see me too. I ran into him on the way here to check on you–he ran away from me, though. Who would have thought anything short of the Bloody Baron could scare him?  
  
No, young lady, that is not exactly what ghosts are. Although we are formed of energy like yourselves, we also carry around our souls with us–I had always figured that the common link that allowed humans to see ghosts was the soul, since humans can't see pure energy in the normal scheme of things. And now, my theory has been proven correct–that is, I assume everyone else is unable to see you, as well as hear you. Professor Binns was excited, something completely unheard of for the little ghost.   
  
I can see Setsuna, and Setsuna can see me. Other than that, no one. I replied. But . . . we have souls. I assume so, at least–we are human after all. If not originally from Earth. Or perhaps all life in the Silver Millennium had originated on Earth. So maybe, in a way, we were . . . but either way, that had very little bearing on the subject at hand.  
  
Yes, but somehow you have become able to detach yourself from your body without bringing your soul with you. I assume, considering your reaction during class, that it is an involuntary process?   
  
Yes. Setsuna answered for me, in the same disgruntled tone I would have used. Then, brightening, I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to fix it?  
  
Tell me how this came about–or your best guess at least. Then, I may be able to offer a solution. Exchanging a glance, Setsuna and I reluctantly told him the truth–about our recent power-ups, and how we had postulated that the extreme excess of energy that our body was not used to handling had somehow brought us to this state.   
  
After we finished, he nodded. I see. Well . . . next time you are back inside your body, attempt to detach yourself voluntarily. If that works, then it is my opinion that–as long as you do so often enough voluntarily–the excess of energy will no longer push you into doing so involuntarily. His face creased in a reassuring smile. And, as a beneficial side-effect, if you detach yourself voluntarily, you may be able to bring your soul along as well, allowing you to be seen.  
  
Thank you. Setsuna and I both said, nearly simultaneously, and in equally heartfelt tones. Setsuna turned to me. Well, I'd better get on to my next class. See you later, Haruka.  
  
After she left, I turned back to the professor, and did what I never would have even considered doing in human form. Professor Binns . . . do you think we could do something fun in this class for once? Like maybe . . . put on a musical or something like that . . . something different?  
  
He seemed surprised. I've never done anything like that before . . . but then again, no one has ever bothered to ask before, either. I think that's an interesting idea. Any suggestions for which musical? I shook my head, still slightly bewildered by how easy it had been. Then I suppose I'll toss the question open to the entire class tomorrow.   
  
I smiled. I'm really looking forward to it. Thank you again.  
  
And as I left, the professor said quietly, with an odd light in his eyes, No. Thank you, Haruka Ten'ou. For the first time in quite a while . . . I'm almost beginning to feel alive.  
  
* * *  
  
Makoto found herself sitting at the top of yet another set of stairs that terminated at yet another roof. Even though that wasn't *the* roof . . . she stayed on the stairs. And thought. As had been true often of late, her thoughts centered around a certain person with blonde hair that used to be short. She wondered again, idly, what had made Haruka decide to let it grow out, then dismissed the thought. As always, her contemplation of the subject was gaining her nothing. No insights into herself or into their actions. No ideas on what to do, even as her current feelings of stalemate gnawed increasingly at her. Begged her to do something, anything.   
  
But this was not a conflict that she could settle with her fists. What would she do, beat herself up? She had to figure this out somehow, using her brain. And she had little experience with this sort of battle. None, really . . . so she was at a loss. And so she continued to grow more and more confused, agitated . . . she was surprised the others hadn't seen it yet and commented on it.   
  
In her deep concentration, the other's quiet steps had not registered until she spoke. Looks like you need a friend.   
  
Hi, Hotaru. Makoto sighed, planting her chin once more in her hands.   
  
Makoto . . . how do you see the other inner senshi? Hotaru asked, as she sat beside the tall auburn-haired girl, and placed her own chin in her hands. Friends, family, teammates . . .  
  
Sigh. I . . . friends mostly. The only friends I can ever really remember having. Especially after my parents died. Why do you ask?   
  
Sigh. Not sure really. Just . . . feeling a little guilty, I guess. I . . . formally took my leave from Usagi and rejoined the Outers. Actually, it was almost a week ago, now. But I'm still not quite sure it was the right thing to do. Pause. No, that's not exactly right. I *know* deep within my heart, that it was the right thing to do, because the four of us belong together. We're friends, family, partners . . . I'm closer to them than anyone else in the world, Usagi and my father included. But . . . I still can't help feeling guilty. She looked up, with a weak smile that mirrored itself in her purple eyes. I'm sorry. I meant to try and cheer you up, not dump all my troubles on you like that.  
  
That's okay. I doubt anyone can help me out right now, anyway. She looked at Hotaru with curiosity. You sounded so certain . . . how do you know what you are feeling?   
  
Often you don't. The black-haired girl replied moodily. I know with such certainty about my bond with the other three because it's so strong, I don't think I could deny it if I tried. Unless it's a feeling so strong, it absolutely *can't* be denied, I don't think anyone really knows what they feel.  
  
She turned to look directly at Makoto. You inners . . . you're teammates. I think we could be friends in time . . . but I've never really had the time to get to know any of you. And despite Usagi's verbal truce with us, with me on one side and the rest of you on the other side, I doubt I'll really be given a chance. She shrugged. So I don't really know what to think of you. I know you are a good fighter–though Haruka is better–and a good cook, but I don't know what I, personally, think of you. So it makes me uncertain as to exactly how to relate, to you or to anyone. The other Outer Senshi are the same, I think.  
  
But Haruka and Michiru and Setsuna . . . you all seem so confident all the time.   
  
Hotaru smiled wryly. We are just as human as everyone else . . . or at least as human as the rest of you senshi. We just know how to hide it a little bit better.  
  
Makoto shook her head as she stood up. If you say so. Then smiled. Thank you, Hotaru. I don't know why . . . but I feel a lot better now.   
  
Near the bottom of the steps, Hotaru's voice stopped her once again. Makoto . . . would you teach me to cook, some day?  
  
The tall auburn-haired girl turned around and smiled up at her black-haired teammate. I'd love to. And, she realized, she meant it. None of the others had ever asked . . . and it meant more than she had previously realized, that someone thought she knew something worth teaching.  
  
* * *  
  
In a dark dorm room, all inhabitants were asleep, two in the same bed. One slept peacefully, a contented smile on her face as she dreamed of happy memories and of what the future could bring . . . at least in her dreams . . . a small blonde girl with a single streak of aqua hair sat reading in a tree, as an aqua-haired girl with a blonde streak threw acorns at her, all of which the blond girl caught and dropped, a smile on her face. Finally, the aqua-haired girl climbed up into the tree and sat on another branch, bringing out her own book. Just then, two smaller girls, probably a year or two younger, ran up. One had green hair and the other a dark purple verging on black.   
  
And in the background, four proud parents stood, smiling at the antics of their daughters and remembering a time when they had been much the same. Others began to show, along with their children . . . until the whole group was there, together, as they had never had the opportunity to be previously, in their other lives. There were other people there as well . . . people she recognized, but forgot–relegated to the status of mere shadows–upon waking. As well, an entire new group of children of varying ages ran around and played and got to know each other and enjoy each others' presence and be friends. . .  
  
The other inhabitant of the bed was worlds away. She tossed and turned continuously, a frowning expression suspended somewhere between shock, anger, and pleading on her face. Her dream . . .  
  
I'm sorry, but I can't be with you any more. A cold voice resonated through the darkness of her mind, and she watched as a tall blonde figure–face hidden in shadow, but still leaving no doubt as to who she was–turned and walked away. The tone of voice left the absolute certainty that she was *not*, in fact, sorry . . . that really she couldn't care less.   
  
I don't need you any more, Michiru. You're worse than dead weight, because you're trying to pull me down with you. Face the facts, you just can't keep up with me. I've found someone better.   
  
Give me a chance . . . She whispered, almost to low to hear herself, as she sank to her knees–her legs unable to support the rest of her body, so great was her shock and grief. And yet the other still heard her whispered plea as clearly as if it had been shouted.  
  
Hah! I've given you more chances that you deserve. Look, even now you are showing your weakness. There's no way you could ever measure up to me. And when you are left in the dust, it will be all your fault . . . and you can have the satisfaction of knowing that I no longer care what happens to you. Live, die . . . you're on your own now. I have better things to do now, than to look after someone so much weaker than myself. The blonde figure reached out to another hidden by the shadows, and they disappeared, leaving only a brokenhearted girl kneeling in the middle of the blackness, vainly wishing that it was just a nightmare, just a dream she'd wake up from.   
  
But she didn't. And she began to convince herself that it was real.   
  
* * *  
  
A small figure staggered out of bed and into the moonlight, rubbing her eyes in an effort to wake herself more fully. Why me? She muttered, a rhetorical query she obviously didn't expect an answer to . . . especially since there was no one awake to hear the question. Moonlight glinted off blue-black hair as she tripped her way over to another bed. Can't they keep their emotions to themselves for once?  
  
With a small sigh, she laid a hand on Michiru's forehead and closed her eyes, concentrating. Had her eyes been open, they would most likely have glowed violet. The unhappy girl slowly stopped thrashing, her frown straightening into a neutral expression as she slid into a deeper sleep. A sleep with no disturbing dreams.   
  
The girl with blue-black hair removed her hand from Michiru's forehead and opened her eyes slightly. And with a sychronized blink and yawn, Lindsey toppled, sliding to the ground beside their bed in a deep sleep.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
15. A Song, a Resolution, and a Pair of Wings  
  
When I woke up, the sky was still the grey of predawn. That was not surprising, I usually make a point of being up early enough to greet the sun. I was, however, surprised to see a third figure in our bed.   
  
Well, she wasn't precisely *in* the bed, I guess. More . . . draped over the side. And as deeply asleep, still, as Michiru from what I could tell. Padding over to the other side of the bed in sock feet, I picked Lindsey up and carried her back over to her own bed. Leaving the warmth of my arms she mumbled a half-hearted protest, snuggling deeply into her own covers. Looking down on her, I smiled. Lindsey was a sweet girl, one of the few people I had met that I truly enjoyed being around who wasn't a senshi.   
  
Leaning out the window, I looked down and considered. Although the Slytherin area began in the dungeons, we actually extended several stories into the air, although our House was built seamlessly into the building, instead of protruding out in towers the way the other three Houses did. The first years, being the newest, got stuck at the very top of our –about three stories above the ground. An easy drop, considering what I planned.   
  
What could I say? I wanted to watch the sun rise from the roof. And the quickest way to get there . . . I threw myself out the window, away from the wall. Uranus Eternal, Make Up! Uttered in a soft voice, so as to be less likely to attract attention, I triggered my transformation–although, as my memories of the Silver Millennium returned, I needed that phrase less and less. I had gotten nearly to the point where I could trigger the transformation *without* the focus phrase, the way we had all been able to back during the Silver Millennium. But I wasn't about to see if I could do it this time, not while falling at high velocity towards the ground.   
  
A corona of light appeared around me as my wings coalesced, along with the navy blue dress marking me as Princess of Uranus. The initial couple of beats were hard, as I tried to arrest my downward descent, but then I was on my way up. I finally arrived at our favorite study place on the roof just in time to see the sun start to creep over the horizon. I reveled in the gentle tranquility of the creeping warmth and light the sun brought back into the world.  
  
The sound, the music that started integrated so well with my peace of mind and the general mood that at first I didn't notice it. But slowly, it crept into my mind, until I stood to find the creator of such beautiful sounds.   
  
It was, I admit, the absolute last person I would have expected. (Okay, maybe one of the professors would have been even more of a shock . . . but not much more.) The first thing I saw was the silvery-blonde hair glinting with golden highlights from the slowly rising sun. And the guitar he bent over, as strummed softly and sang.   
  
The song was one I recognized after a short time, a song in English that was popular thirty to forty years before. Careful not to disturb him, I sat down on the peak of the roof and watched the boy who I had looked on for so long as a (friendly) nemesis. Yes, Draco was definitely one of the last people I would have expected such a beautiful streak of musicality from.   
  
And what a beautiful song it was . . . finally, I was unable to restrain myself further, and slowly, softly, I joined my voice to his.  
  
  
  
//Once I thought that love was meant for anyone else but me,  
Once I thought you'd never come my way.  
I guess it only goes to show how wrong we all can be,  
For now I have to tell you every day . . .   
  
My love is warmer than the warmest sunshine, softer than a sigh  
My love is deeper than the deepest ocean, wider than the sky  
My love is brighter than the brightest star that shines every night above  
And there is nothing in this world that can ever change my love . . .//  
  
  
  
The last chords faded away into the low fog that rose, slowly, to envelop the bottom layers of the school. A chill breeze rose–pleasantly cool, even in the short dress I wore, but a reminder that winter was on the way. And we sat in silence, the two of us who had been rivals for so long–although, with me in my senshi form, I was the only one who realized that.   
  
Draco spoke first. Hesitantly, so very unlike the brash and confident young man I had come to know and dislike. You . . . the way you sang that song . . . it was like it meant something to you, more than just words on a page.   
  
It does. I was surprised, astonished that anyone could see that song as *just* words. Ever since the first time I heard it, I thought fondly on the enrichment activity in my high school freshman English class which had first introduced me to this song, that song has been *my* song. It echoes so perfectly my own life. I cocked my head. Don't you love anyone?   
  
Wry grin, an expression that I would never have thought to see on his face–it implies too much humility . . . and humanity. My parents, supposedly.   
  
I shuddered. Let them believe what they will, but don't *ever* try to convince yourself that you love someone if you actually hate them. Real hate, not just retaliation for the supposedly unfair actions they might have done. That is just spite.  
  
But if your parents are such that you really don't give a care whether they live or die . . . and sometimes think that if they died, you'd be better off psychologically . . . duty and your conscience should restrain you from killing them. But if you truly feel that way, *don't* try to convince yourself that you love them. It only brings pain.   
  
Small smile of my own. It's not necessary to like them . . . it is in the nature of parents, I think, to do things occasionally that their children don't like. But if you truly do not love them . . . my advice is to get out of there. As soon as possible. I did, and I've never regretted it.   
  
Draco sighed. I always thought . . . that all children love their parents. Because that's what children do.   
  
I shook my head. My father started abusing me when I was six. Draco's eyes widened slightly as he turned to look more closely at me. I chuckled softly–I have, slowly, gained the ability to laugh at myself and at the situation, now that I am long out of it and have made for myself a better life. Not always physical abuse . . . but he constantly seemed to find something, anything . . . even the *smallest* things wrong with me. And my mother never even tried to stop him.   
  
I got out of there when I turned twelve. Got myself assigned to a nice foster family–far enough away and well enough covered up that he couldn't find me. And as soon as I could support myself, I got out of there too. My hatred for my father caused me to vow that I would become a better man than he ever had been.  
  
So I raced cars for a living. And motorcycles, and I ran track . . . anything associated with speed . . . trying to outrun my past. I chopped off my hair and wore pants constantly . . . probably nearly all the people I met assumed I was a guy. By the greatest of luck, I even ended up with the most wonderful girlfriend anyone–guy or girl–could have, and raised an adoptive daughter with her. I was happy then, happy as I had never been with my father. I spat the word.   
  
I looked deeply into Draco's eyes, trying to impress on him the seriousness of what I was saying. Love . . . there's no greater feeling. It expresses itself in many ways–you can love a friend as deeply as a lover or a family, just in a different manner. But if there's no love there . . . there just isn't, and most of the time there's nothing you can do to change that situation.   
  
Draco was beginning to look rather shell-shocked. I stood up, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling mischevously. You know . . . it's possible to love your enemy, too, in a similar manner to the way you love a friend–their enmity can keep you grounded as surely as another's friendship. I walked to the edge of the roof and popped out my wings, jumping and gliding down.   
  
But Draco didn't move. He just sat there, thinking. Considering what the strange girl had said–the girl in the navy blue dress with wings like an angel. Turning over in his mind the concept that perhaps . . . he didn't love his parents after all. His father did things he wasn't quite comfortable with . . . although he had learned to keep his objections quiet, even within his own mind.   
  
It was a word that took an invisible weight off his mind, one he hadn't even realized was there, that perhaps. A small smile, a *genuine* smile instead of the ordinary smirk, graced his lips. Just . . . perhaps.   
  
* * *  
  
In an empty room, lit only by the sunlight coming in through two windows along one of the walls, a small girl with auburn hair tied up in a ponytail high on her head danced. Her smooth, graceful movements, each flowing naturally into the next, became something more than martial, became an art not unlike dance. Green eyes were hidden by half-closed lids as her small smile showed the joy she felt in this activity.   
  
And in the doorway, another stood. Slowly, the auburn-haired girl's movements slowed and stopped as she became aware of the other's presence. A wider smile found its way to her face as she wiped her forehead of the small beads of sweat that had accumulated there.   
  
The girl with short black hair smiled back, slowly at first and shyly. Hello, Makoto-san.  
  
Makoto shook her head impatiently, long hair flying. Just call me Mako-chan like everyone else. I don't mind, really. But please, come on in. She gestured towards the floor with a self-deprecating grin. Have a seat, if you want.   
  
I hope I'm not disturbing you. Hotaru said, as she walked in to lean against a nearby wall. I just . . . I don't know. She shook her head with frustration. I was hoping to talk to you, I guess . . . but I don't know what about, really.   
  
Makoto grinned engagingly as she sank to the floor in a cross-legged position. Well, we're talking now. That's as good a start as any.   
  
Eh, I suppose. Hotaru sank to the floor, hugging her legs as she put her chin on her knees.   
  
Silence reigned. Nice weather today. Hotaru smiled wryly. As if to directly contradict that statement, a cloud passed over the sun, and the distant roll of thunder could be heard. A look of annoyance crossed her face as she stood up and stalked over to the window.   
  
I'll have you know that I *like* clouds. She stated, addressing the sky outside with a slightly angry, mostly amused tone of voice, arms crossed across her chest. And I *like* rain, and thunder and lightning too. So there! *Biida*  
  
Makoto's eyes crinkled as she fought to contain her amusement. She stood and walked over. If it's any help, I like thunder and lightning and storms and rain and clouds and such too. She addressed the sky as well.   
  
Hotaru turned, violet eyes sparkling. Now all you have to do is stick your tongue out at it.   
  
She wrinkled her nose. But that seems like an awfully childish thing to do . . . Smack to her head. Aw, who cares? Sounds like fun! *Biida*  
  
Green eyes met violet, and the laughter could no longer be contained. You know . . . I don't know why it comes as such a shock that you have a sense of humor–horrible thing for me to say, huh?   
  
It's because of my persona. Hotaru explained quietly. To a certain extent, we are all influenced by our alter egos . . . Rei has a temper as firey as the attacks she controls. You are strong . . . the strength of the one the Greeks and Romans believed was the ruler of the gods. And me? She looked down at her hands. The Messiah of Silence. Mistress Nine. The Senshi of Destruction and Rebirth–although many remember only the destruction. None of my personas hold any room for a sense of humor.   
  
Small smile. But growing up the second time . . . I was able to rediscover a sense of joy in life, in existence purely for its own sake. And with joy, comes laughter . . . so my alter egos got shoved off to the side to make room for happiness.  
  
You know, I've never really thought of you as a person before. Makoto admitted with embarrassment. You were always just the Senshi of Saturn, Senshi of Death and Rebirth, that black-haired girl.   
  
Hotaru nodded. And you were the tall auburn-haired Inner Senshi, the Senshi of Jupiter, Senshi of Lightning. The strongest of the Inner senshi. A minimal mental tag to a person I don't know all that well. But what I said earlier is still true . . . I would like to get to know you better.   
  
Me too . . . I'd like to get to know *you* better too, that is. Makoto returned. Say . . . are you up for a cooking lesson?  
  
That's the best idea I've heard all day. Hotaru stated firmly. I'd love to.  
  
And although the two had come to the room seperately, they left together . . . and both felt their lives enriched a bit throught the contact.   
  
* * *  
  
A small green-haired girl lay on her bed, eyes closed and arms folded, with a peaceful expression on her face. I hope this works . . . Professor Binns, you better be right!   
  
Focussing her concentration completely, she tried to *push* herself from her body. Finally, after what seemed like forever, something snapped internally, and she found herself looking down into her own calm face. Yes! It worked! I hope . . . She had proven to herself that it was possible to disassociate herself from her body volutarily . . . but she did not yet know if, like this, others could see her as well.   
  
She drifted absentmindedly through a wall, down to the Hufflepuff common room. Hello, Rei. She greeted the raven-haired girl who sat there, engrossed in her Defense against the Dark Arts homework.   
  
'Lo, Setsuna. The other girl replied distantly, then looked up. Her eyes widened and she jumped up, heedless of the homework she had just spilled all over the floor. Kami-sama, Setsuna, what happened?! Is it a new enemy? Rei seemed almost frantic with worry–not surprising, seeing as one of the strongest of her fellow senshi was floating about a foot above the ground and transparent.  
  
Setsuna laughed. No, Rei. I was just trying a little something out . . . I'm glad to know you *can* see and hear me. She turned and phased through the door leading to the hallway, leaving Rei shaking her head.  
  
Ookay. That was . . . different. She shrugged. Well, I doubt anything *serious* is happening. She picked her homework back up off the floor and soon was engrossed in it once again.   
  
* * *  
  
Setsuna drifted into the Slytherin first year girls' dorm, in search of Haruka. Hey, 'Ruka, you in there?  
  
Come on in. Her blonde friend replied. So, what's cooking?  
  
I think I've figured out to make myself seen. Setsuna smiled as she drifted into the room, noticing Chibiusa was in the room as well. Hello Chibiusa.   
  
Hi Puu! The pink-haired girl replied happily. It's nice to see you again. She frowned. Why do you have to do this, anyway? Either of you?   
  
Unseen by any in the room, Michiru had come up to the door and frozen right outside. She peeked inside, seeing Haruka, the ghostly Setsuna, and Chibiusa, then slowly withdrew her head. She, too, wanted to know what Haruka had been hiding–and perhaps she would tell to Chibiusa what she had so far seemed unwilling to tell to her.   
  
We're pretty sure we know why–both why we keep doing this and why we are the only ones, so far, to have to go through this experience. But . . . to tell you that would be to tell you something that I swore I would never tell anyone. Haruka replied sadly.   
  
They made us both swear that we wouldn't tell any of our fellow senshi. And there isn't any point in telling anyone else. Setsuna affirmed. You'll all find out on your own, eventually. But until then we can't say *anything*. To anyone. Her voice was full of regret. Not even to you, Small Lady.  
  
Michiru turned and walked away, missing Haruka's soft, Not even Michiru, no matter how much I wish I could tell her.  
  
* * *  
  
_It's happening._ Michiru sat in a currently unused hallway, back to the wall and head against knees drawn up to her chest. _Just like in my dream . . . she's leaving me. She hasn't yet, she may not intend to . . . but she will move on. Because she has experienced whatever it was that she went through, and I haven't. I've become the weak link in our relationship. She doesn't need me anymore._   
  
Teary cerulean eyes. _I love her. I can't imagine not loving her . . . or even clearly remember how my life was, before she came into it, before she brought light into my life. I *can* live without her . . . after all, I managed before . . . but why? We were happy . . . and even when we weren't, we were together. Why does that have to change?_  
  
She laid her head down against her knees and sighed a long, shuddery, drawn out breath. _Because . . . life is change. And she has changed, grown up, in ways that I haven't. I don't know why or how, but while I have stayed essentially the same, she has become . . . more. And Setsuna, too, has grown, I think. They are much closer now than ever before . . . I'm glad, for Setsuna's sake–she has had far too few friends, and been alone for far too long._  
  
_And yet . . . she is a part of what is pulling Haruka away from me . . . even if she doesn't mean to, and I know she doesn't–she wouldn't do that to me, and she wouldn't do that to Haruka either, not intentionally. So I can't help but resent her . . . and I hate it, feeling this way about a fellow senshi, and one who is as much family to me as my real family._   
  
She stood up, smiling a sad, wry smile. Her eyes had dried and she drew her fingers across her face, wiping away the traces of tears remaining. _So what can I do?_ She stood straighter, drawing in on herself and exuding an aura of calm resolution. _I can enjoy being with Haruka for as long as I can, knowing it won't last, and when she does leave . . . as she will, eventually . . . I don't make the parting as hard for her as it will be for me. I let her go, knowing . . . that at least she will be happy._  
  
And she turned to walk back down the empty hallway, back towards the main parts of the school, back towards the mass of humanity that inhabited it . . . and back towards Haruka.   
  
* * *  
  
That night, Michiru dreamed once again. A different dream, this time, not one that made it necessary for her to be soothed. A calming dream and a rather happy one. There was another figure in shadows, but this one meant something a great deal different to the troubled teal-haired girl. This was a person she loved, deeply and completely, as she had loved only one other before, someone she was happy with. And as she descended out of that dream into the realm of dreamless sleep, it was with the knowledge that not only would the course she had chosen free the one she loved to pursue the happiness she deserved, but that she too would eventually reclaim happiness.  
  
Hugging that belief tightly to herself, she missed the small glint of light that dispelled at least some of the shadows for a brief moment. That showed sandy blonde hair and the glint of kind teal eyes.  
  
Beside her, Haruka slept with a small smile on her face, content with the way her world shaped itself, not reaching towards the girl beside her, but knowing undeniably that she was there. Because if Michiru had left, Haruka would have known, immediately and painfully, of that loss. And her sleep was a deep, refreshing sleep without dreams.  
  
* * *  
  
The girl opened her eyes to a surprising sight. She had really expected to wake up back in the dorm, in her own bed with Rei on the bed to the right, often the first sight she saw upon waking, and Setsuna across the room from her. So, when her emerald green eyes found, instead, a beautiful forest of trees, each hundreds of feet tall, she came to the (somewhat) accurate conclusion that she was still dreaming.   
  
She walked over to one of the trees and reached out a hand. The tree's bark was rough beneath her hand, and she smiled at the feeling that somehow seemed so . . . familiar. Sliding down to a sitting position, she leaned back against the tree, gazing up through the canopy, so far up, to catch brief snatches of the lightish blue sky. As she watched, the sky darkened visibly, from blue through a pink that reminded her of her senshi fuku's bows to a deep vibrant purple.  
  
Beautiful, isn't it? Although startled by the voice that came from nowhere, she seemed to know instinctively that the owner of the voice was no threat to her. She turned to face the new presence. A girl, whose hair was a shade that more closely approached the red of Chibi Chibi than the true *pink* of Chibiusa's, and whose eyes were a green much lighter and yellower than her own.   
  
Who are you?   
  
For a long moment, the other girl did not answer, content with smiling enigmatically. Search your mind. The answer is within you.   
  
She closed her eyes, calming herself. And as she soaked in the beauty of the un-Earthly landscape, the answer drifted up out of the depths.   
  
I'm surprised you remembered. Jupiter smiled. But then, I suppose I shouldn't have been. Even if you have forgotten most of it, you're still my avatar.  
  
Makoto tasted the word tentatively, rolling it around her mouth. It felt . . . right. Then a question occured to her. Did you have anything to do with returning us to this state? She gestured towards her eleven-year-old body. Or know how and why it happened?  
The other girl shook her head, brushing loose shoulder-length hair out of her face with a free hand. None of us know who did this or how . . . as to why, I have only speculations.   
  
Such as . . .?  
  
You are changing. Maturing more than you ever did in your previous life. I'm pretty sure that that's a large part of it . . . if the one who did this is actually on our side. Also, you have partially resolved a conflict that would have been left to fester otherwise. Well, it's still festering . . . but there is a possibility of healing that wouldn't have been there before.   
  
I assume you're aware that this is *not* your home dimension?   
  
Makoto's eyes grew misty as she remembered her first day here. My parents are still alive . . .  
  
Right. Also, Hogwarts, the other schools of magic, and this form of magic in general never existed before. So, whoever *could* have just brought you back several years, instead of completely changing the environment you live in . . . which leaves me to conclude that it is important that you all be here, now. Whether it is because there are things you must learn here . . . or there may be a threat that only you senshi can face . . . I don't know.  
  
Why are you appearing to me now, though? You never appeared in the beginning, when I first became Sailor Jupiter, and I'd think that would have been a much more logical time to appear.  
  
At that point in time, I wasn't aware that I *could* contact you directly . . . that knowledge has come only recently. It may have something to do with the fractured state of your memories and the destruction Jupiter experienced from Beryl's attacks, only now even beginning to heal. But know that you are beginning to mature, I am remembering more as well. Here. She held out her hands and a soft, green ball of light began glowing between them. Take back your birthright, my Avatar.   
  
The auburn-haired girl reached out tentatively, and her eyes widened in shock as the green power dissipated, absorbed into her body. Jupiter Eternal Make Up! The power flowed headily through her veins, until it seemed like she *was* the power.   
  
Her fuku appeared first, the form of Super Sailor Jupiter. But then it shifted and flowed into something entirely different. The fuku lengthened into a moss green dress with short sleeves–about the same length as her shoulder guards had been–similar to the dress she wore in princess form. Around her waist a pink sash, the same color as Jupiter's hair, tied itself, ending in a bow with long flowing trails on her back. And then the wings appeared. Feathery angel wings, the same soft pink as her sash.   
  
And Eternal Sailor Jupiter stood tall, as Jupiter looked on approvingly, and voiced her single, most overwhelming thought.   
  
Beautiful . . .  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
16. Shades of Green  
Thursday morning dawned bright and early over Hogwarts, as the sun dispelled the fog that had risen to surround the school during the night. And in one particular room in the school, two people held a short conversation that would be completely meaningless, most likely, to anyone else who happened to overhear it.   
  
Filled with a new sense of power as well as the rest sleep had brought, a certain auburn-haired girl sat up, only to gape in surprise at one of the other inhabitants of the room.   
  
The green-haired girl in question turned, only to blink and widen her eyes–her personal version of the gapemouthed stare still inhabiting the other girl's face.   
  
A resigned voice, a piece of the puzzle that had finally clicked in Makoto's mind.   
  
Setsuna affirmed, smiling slightly. An understanding had been reached between the two. Anyone else certainly wouldn't understand much.   
  
* * *  
  
Why do you come up here? I asked as, once again, I met Draco and his guitar on top of the roof at sunrise.   
  
It's nice up here. Peaceful. And rather otherworldly . . . I don't feel like I have to be as strictly Draco Malfoy here. I can be someone different . . . someone better.   
  
You can change, you know. You don't have to remain the Draco Malfoy you are to the world now. Look at me, after all. I went from rebellious, resentful, and bitter to the somewhat more well-adjusted person I am now. I can't say I'm perfect . . . if my father just appeared out of thin air, I'd probably smack him real hard as many times as possible . . . but I no longer feel the need to let my hatred of him ruin my life.   
  
I found it rather ironic that I was telling things to my rival/enemy/plaything that I had never breathed to another soul, not even Michiru. But there was just something about the situation that drew out that sort of confidences.   
  
But what if it is he who is ruining your life? The guitar had been set to the side, and he had drawn his knees up to his chest, speaking in a low voice. Almost as if he feared the very air surrounding us would carry his betrayal to hostile ears. What if he does *things* and makes you watch . . . saying it will harden you . . . He was shaking now, and his voice had fallen to practically nothing. . . . and you *can't* say no because you have no place to run!  
  
You find a place to run to. Don't you have any friends?   
  
Draco Malfoy has no need for such common things as friends. The response seemed automatic. He seemed to understand that I didn't mean his hench-idiots in the context of friends, not surprising as he didn't really treat them as such.   
  
In a burst of . . . I'm not really sure, even now–pity, sympathy, inspiration? . . . I took my communicator out of my subspace pocket and gave it to Draco. If I was really needed somewhere, Setsuna would let me know . . . and Ami could probably make me a new one if I ever got up enough courage to ask her, or Luna, or Artemis. Draco needed it more than I did now.   
  
I knew now from experience that if someone sent me a message with their senshi communicator, I could pick it up even without one of my own–I had never gotten around to asking the others if they could do the same, though. I showed him the lid that disguised the communicator from normal prying eyes, and the navy blue button that he should push in order to get into contact with me. If I don't answer you in time, use the darker red button. I pointed to the one that would put him into contact with Setsuna. Tell the person who answers that you're Uranus' friend. I would warn Setsuna of the possibility, so that she wouldn't cut him off.  
  
Why are you doing this for me? Draco had a bewildered and lost look in his silver eyes, his normal thought processes completely unhinged by a simple offer of friendship.   
  
Because, regardless of my first impression, I rather like you. And . . . you deserve the chance to get away that I didn't take until it was nearly too late. And in a way, it had been too late . . . because it took dying and being reborn in a very different fashion for me to finally break away.   
  
Draco watched as once again his angel flew away, dissipating like the morning mists under the fierce attention of the sun. And he looked down at the small watch-like communication device he held in his hand, and tucked it away in his pocket. Freedom . . . that was what the mysterious girl represented, from the first time he met her. First, freedom of thought, and now . . . if he had the courage to take the hand of friendship she had so surprisingly extended . . . perhaps, a way to escape, and find freedom in a very real and tangible sense, as well . . .  
  
* * *  
  
The notice was hard to escape, with the words Attention First Years written in bold, block letters easily visible up to twenty feet away. Not surprisingly, it was one of the first things that caught my eye when I first came into the common room. I wandered over to take a closer look. First year History of Magic lessons changed to 10 am on Mondays and Thursdays in room 238. It was, luckily, one of the rooms I actually knew the placement of, a rather large room that had about four times as much floor space as any of the other classrooms typically used . . . except, perhaps, the dungeons in which Snape taught Potions.   
  
Beside it, a notice slightly larger and even more noticable. Quidditch match Saturday, Slytherin vs. Gryffindor. I supposed I would attend . . . even if only because most likely everyone else in the two houses would also. It was bound to be interesting . . . scrawled near the bottom were two more words. Potter Sucks!   
  
I didn't really understand the reasoning that led whoever it was to write that on a Quidditch game announcement of all things . . . but shrugged it off. The sentiment was, after all, a fairly prevalent one among Slytherin students as a whole.   
  
I took a look at my watch and nearly yelped. A quarter to ten already? I hadn't realized it was *that* late . . . History of Magic started in less than fifteen minutes! I dashed out the door.   
  
* * *  
  
Gasping slightly, I was one of the first to the new classroom in which History of Magic was now being held, and as I walked through the door, I wondered idly if it had anything to do with the suggestion I had made . . . had it really been two days before?  
  
Only one person had gotten there before me, a person that I instantly recognized. We both said at the same time and, as one, turned to Professor Binns.   
  
This is not going to work out. Hermione informed him primly.   
  
I was a bit less restrained. Are you nuts? Putting Slytherin and Gryffindor in the same classroom?! Are you really *trying* to start World War III?  
  
The ghostly professor smiled serenely. You are Slytherin, she is Gryffindor, and look, you agree on something already.   
  
That's different. We both attested, simultaneously once again.   
  
I shook my head. On an individual basis . . . at least, *certain* individuals . . . it might work. But making people like Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle work with people like . . . well, *anyone* else really . . . is pure insanity. It will never work. I was beginning to like Draco, true. But I had no illusions as to how much of a nasty, sarcastic idiot he could be in Malfoy mode.   
  
And truce or no truce, there was another small problem. Or more accurately, two. Minako and Usagi, currently going by the name Serenity. I shook my head sadly as I walked over to take an empty seat.   
  
Next to come through the door, surprising as it might have seemed, was Usagi. Of course, she came through at a mad dash, and nearly slid into a desk in her attempt to stop in time, but she was actually early. She still tripped and dropped everything on her way to her desk, though. I smiled slightly. The more things change, the more they stay the same.   
  
Minako arrived soon after, dragging along and chatting with Harry, Ron, Neville, and a couple of other Gryffindor boys that I didn't recognize. Michiru, Chibiusa and Lindsey showed up in a small clump of their own, one that drifted my way and settled around me.   
  
Draco, his hench-idiots, and a few other random Slytherin–including the other two girls, Pansy and Millicent–sauntered in and found their seats. Finally, the last few stragglers arrived, and all got seated with a relatively small amount of fuss and, surprisingly, no property damage at all. Though if looks were laser beams . . .   
  
The professor started off class with an announcement–and one that, for once, everyone was awake for. I'm sure you are wondering at the change in schedule. Someone suggested to me that I do something a bit different, in order to bring history somewhat more alive, you could say. I was deeply grateful that he hadn't mentioned me by name. So I decided that each of the classes would put on a musical, along the theme of musical history. The only problem with that would be that a small class of ten or eleven is not a large enough cast to put on much of anything. So I have combined the first year Gryffindor and Slytherin classes, and done the same with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Which musical you put on is left, however, entirely up to you.   
  
Arguments began immediately, escalating quickly to a complete uproar. Finally a suggestion was made that everyone was (reluctantly) willing to agree on. Of course, if more of them had realized that Draco had been the one to suggest it, the whole of Gryffindor would probably have disagreed on general principles.   
  
Actually written by a fairly contemporary British composer, it was the adaptation of a much older movie. Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera.   
  
Professor Binns nodded when we informed him of our choice, and promised to get copies of the script as soon as he could get his (non-corporeal) hands on some.   
  
* * *  
  
After the Gryffindor/Slytherin combined flight lesson (in which many expressions of disgust were made at having to share two classes in the *same* *day* with each other, and in which Chibiusa joined Harry and I in our game of catch and surprised all three of us by winning), we gathered for our customary homework/get-together session on the roof. Setsuna had evidently picked up Hotaru on her way as they came up together. Hotaru was elated at getting to spend time with her best friend, but Setsuna looked rather shell-shocked. Hey, Setsuna, what's wrong?  
  
Nothing really. She replied, a guilty expression shadowing her face. It's just that Makoto went Eternal last night and . . . I just haven't quite adjusted to the changed situation yet.  
  
Mako-chan, huh? I thought of the auburn-haired boy-chasing senshi. Interesting. I wonder who she'll bond with? Or remember her bond to, that is. You didn't tell her, did you?  
  
No, I figured that, in a manner similar to gaining Eternal powers, the bond was something she should discover on her own. Nice to see you again.   
  
We saw each other yesterday.   
  
If the pattern continues–although just the two of us could hardly be construed as a real pattern–the next person will regain their Eternal form tonight.  
  
If it's Michiru, Chibiusa–do you think she will gain the power? She's not from the Silver Millennium, but you'd think that, since she has the power to become a Super Sailor Senshi, she ought to become an Eternal Sailor Senshi too. Anyway, or Minako or Usagi, I'll see and let you know.  
  
Why Minako and Usagi? Oh, right, Potions tomorrow for you. If it's Rei, I'll let you know. But neither of us will know if it's one of the Ravenclaws. I wonder if Mamoru has an Eternal form . . .  
  
You're drooling, dear.  
  
Baka! I am not! Besides, I got over *him* ages ago.  
  
I know. But I can't help teasing you about it. It's just so much fun!  
  
You, my dear, have an extremely warped sense of humor.  
  
And you find many of the same things funny that I do. So what does that say for your sense of humor, Miss Guardian of Time?  
  
*Biida*  
  
And the same back to you.  
  
* * *  
  
Hotaru shook her head sadly. She can't see it. I can't believe she can't see it.  
  
Who see what? Chibiusa asked of her friend.   
  
Haruka. See the way Michiru looks at her. Determined, resigned, and totally devoid of anything resembling hope. Sad smile. The look of a person who is about to lose something incredibly important to them, and won't do anything about it, because it's for the good of the other person.   
  
I had noticed how much closer Haruka and Puu seemed. But that's friendship, if incredibly deeper and more meaningful than it has ever been. It's a friendship that is good for both of them. Still, it's obvious that Michiru has nothing to worry about. Haruka loves her, plain and simple, and that will never change.  
  
You know that. I know that. But Michiru doesn't. It's one of the ways my parents are so alike–neither of them have faith in anything. Except, perhaps, their love for each other. And now, for some reason, Michiru's lost that faith in their love, and now fears that Haruka doesn't love her anymore. Or won't.  
  
And the worst thing is, we can't do anything about it. Chibiusa sighed with frustration. Anything we do would only make it worse.   
  
Exactly. Like with Usagi, this is something they're going to have to work out on their own. Anything else would only be a temporary measure. Hotaru nodded agreement, and the two friends shared a long look. They did not look forward to when this particular storm would break.   
  
But still . . . I don't understand how it is that she just can't see!  
  
* * *  
  
Interesting little group they've gathered, there.   
  
Ah, Minerva. Please, have a seat. And I agree, interesting indeed.   
  
The stern professor in yet another of her emerald robes sat crosslegged on the roof beside the one who often seemed to be her nemesis, training her eyes on a small group of first year students sitting on a nearby roof. Why, Severus, you seem positively mellow. A very unusual attitude for you. What brought on this radical change?   
  
She hates me, you know. No, that's not quite right. She is contemptuous of me. I'm not enough of a threat for her to bother hating me. I never would have believed that the opinion of one student–even the daughter of an old friend–would come to matter so much to me.  
  
  
  
The blonde. Haruka Ten'ou. For all that she was put in Slytherin, she's as honor-bound as her father ever was.   
  
I think I remember him. Hiroshi? He was the only Slytherin I ever found even remotely likeable. If she's anything like him, I'm surprised she got put into Slytherin.   
  
Doubtless Gryffindor would have been a better match. He smirked at his fellow professor. But to return to the subject of the group. Four Slytherin, a Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw. Not to mention the fact that they are on amiable terms with Potter's crowd in Gryffindor. The twist in his mouth, a grimace of disgust, was fleeting almost to the point of not being noticeable. Then, an abrupt laugh. More friendly than they are with the rest of Slytherin. For quite a while, Haruka and Draco had a regular feud going . . . it seems to have slacked off recently. Haruka isn't provoking Draco nearly as much, and his heart doesn't seem to be quite as much into the feud anymore, either.   
  
I just wish that Haruka would tell me what is bothering her. Something is, of that I am certain.   
  
You know, I don't think I've ever seen you show this much interest in another student. _Up to and including that brat Malfoy._  
  
Haruka affects me. I'm not sure exactly why, even. It has something to do with how damn honorable she is, I think–so much like her father, bringing back memories of the early days. The good days. And she's much more self-sufficient than Hiroshi ever was, and yet strangely vulnerable at the same time.  
  
Hiroshi would never have dreamed of facing down a mountain troll his first semester here. It would have been simply inconcievable that anyone would do something so reckless . . . and just plain stupid. Yet . . . I get the feeling that Haruka could have taken the troll on alone and won. That any of them could, with the possible exception of the Granger girl.   
  
But she depends on her friends. Even as antisocial and grouchy as I am, I can see that. Not in a physical sense, but if she lost her friends, I get the feeling that she'd completely fall apart. I guess the main thing is, she's an enigma. And you know how I've always been about solving puzzles.   
  
Yes, she knew. When there was something he wanted to figure out, Snape was absolutely relentless. He would let next to nothing stand in his way–although he would never intentionally harm someone.  
  
She almost felt sorry for the girl.  
  
* * *  
  
At a small table in the nearly deserted library, the blue-haired girl finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had tortured her the past few weeks.   
  
Her study partner looked up from the large tome she had been reading, and smiled slightly, tucking a strand of ebony hair behind her left ear. Because I was unhappy. So I rearranged my priorities. I finally realized that to me, friendship is more important than duty. And that even more important to me than friendship, is family. You have all been friends to me, and my duty lies with the princess. But in addition to being my friends, they're also my family.   
  
She closed the book and stood up, a strange smile on her face. I still acknowledge my duty, and I still love you as my dear friends . . . but I will no longer let my duty and your friendship stand in the way of my happiness when really, it hurts no one and helps others than just myself.  
  
What are your priorities, Ami? You really ought to figure that out, before you are forced into making a decision you will later regret. And for you, you may not be as lucky as me, to get a second chance, to undo the damage you never really meant to cause.   
  
Think about it.   
  
* * *  
  
As she got into bed that night, Hotaru tilted her head at a strange feeling. Something was going to happen. Something related to her growing friendship with her family now that they were all the same age. Something related somehow to the conversations she had enjoyed recently with Mako-chan, the observations she had shared with Chibiusa that afternoon, the advice she had given Ami. Something that would happen to her alone. Soon. But not that night. So she went to sleep, confident that when it happened, she would confront it, ready for whatever might come.   
  
Asleep, she dreamed of a young woman in an emerald green dress that matched her eyes, one of the few that had ever dared befriend her. But when she woke up, she remembered nothing of the dream . . . except that it had been a good dream . . . and a vague, half-remembered flash of emerald.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
17. The Other Shoe  
  
It was a Friday morning. For most people, this would be a cause for excitement. Thank goodness it's Friday! the students cry, glad the weekend with its temporary cession of classes is finally nearing.   
  
For at least half of the first year population at Hogwarts, the sentiments were widely different. We mutter, shaking our heads disgustedly. Wonderful. Potions again.  
  
On our way down to the dungeons, I scoped out my fellow Slytherins. Michiru? Unfortunately, no. Chibiusa? Again, no. As class started, I glanced over to the Gryffindor side of the room, completing my survey. Usagi? Nope. Minako? Nuh uh. On my front, at least, the coast was clear. No one else in Gryffindor or Slytherin changed last night. I sent the message to Setsuna.   
  
Brief spike of amusement and disappointment. No one new in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, either.  
  
*Sigh* Dang. Pause. History of Magic?  
  
Yup. Am I to take it he combined Gryffindor and Slytherin?  
  
Silence.   
  
I see. How many injuries resulted? Combined inner laugh, shared solely between the two of them.  
  
Surprisingly enough, none. We even got the decision made, amazingly.  
  
Ooh. What?  
  
Phantom of the Opera, by Andrew Lloyd Webber.  
  
Uprorious laugh. You'll never believe this. We just decided on a musical too–one called Cats. And guess who it's by?  
  
Andrew Lloyd Webber? I could only barely suppress a snicker myself as we cut off the conversation and went back to concentrating on our individual classes. Hermione–my partner for the day since Snape had decided to mix things up by assigning random partners–looked at me quizzically. I shrugged it off. Just remembered something rather funny.   
  
Anything I'd understand?   
  
Yeah . . . but don't worry, you'll find out soon enough.  
  
And class continued. I was aware, peripherally, of Snape's gaze as it traveled throughout the room–but always seemed to land on me. I had to admit, he wasn't quite as bad as I had once painted him, anymore. He stopped singling Harry and the other Gryffindors out for criticism *quite* so single-mindedly, and even corrected the Slytherins–even Draco!–a few times.   
  
As petty as it seems, though, I still hadn't quite forgiven Snape for being the sort of person who would be friends with HIM. My original and long-standing nemesis, the one person who had perhaps the greatest impact on my life . . . until Michiru came along and healed most of the damage.   
  
Our potion of the day nearly finished and being left to boil, I slipped into fond daydreams of Michiru. With my eyes glazed over (and perhaps even a few hearts floating around my head–what a disgusting thought!), I probably looked just like one of the Inners, mooning over the latest cute guy. Pardon me while I go off and snicker about the thought. (*snicker*) I turned my head Michiru's direction and smiled softly, a special smile that only she ever generates in me.   
  
Did I imagine the slight hesitation before she returned my smile? The question itself was driven completely out of my head when I heard the agonized scream torn from the throat of one of the few people I cared the most for.   
  
* * *  
  
Potions seemed to be going well, Severus Snape decided. Even Neville seemed to be managing not to spill anything, with Usagi as his partner. The pink-haired girl had seemed to hit it off with the poor boy–and despite her natural cheeriness, she had a very steadying effect on him. And Serenity–the other person in the class with a nearly infinite klutz rating–had ended up with Lindsey as her partner, a quiet, steady girl who kept the blonde on track and out of trouble, and another of the group of four who he and McGonagall had dubbed the un-Slytherin Slytherins–the four who managed to be both Slytherin and nice people, and were well on their way to ruining the house's reputation (which could be considered a good thing). Yes, class seemed to be working extraordinarily well, today.   
  
Until trouble came in a strange manner, from one of the least likely sources. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She didn't mind causing trouble to people she did not like–or at least, being sarcastic and cutting whenever possible in his case. He sighed silently. Even though Haruka had mellowed a bit recently–she didn't tease Malfoy nearly as much anymore, for example–she had not at any time let up on her stance of complete contemptuousness towards himself. What could Hiroshi possibly have done to evoke such feelings of hatred in his own daughter?   
  
Prejudicing her against Snape, he could understand slightly–Hiroshi had never approved of their decision to join Voldemort, and his disproval had fallen especially hard on Snape, because the two boys had always been the closest of their group of friends, being the only ones with more than vestigial consciences. But that didn't make sense, when compared to the way in which she reacted the first time the subject was brought up.   
  
No My father told me about *you* as he might have expected. While hurtful in the extreme, he still would have understood a rejection of himself, personally. Instead, her face had hardened, eyes glittering angrily. I have no father. Cold. Definite. Without any doubt or room for change left in her mind. She disliked him because he had known, and been friends with, the father she no longer acknowlegded.   
  
So the question remained on his mind . . . What on Earth could Hiroshi have possibly done?  
  
He watched her fantasize about something (or someone, although he felt she was rather young to even begin having crushes)–and yes, a couple of hearts did float around her head, much to Hermione's discomfort (she ended up ducking, more than once). The secret smile shared with Michiru, once she snapped out of the daydream (Snape was becoming more and more certain that *something* existed between the two, something deeper and more tangible than mere friendship).   
  
And then . . . the moment of absolute shock and horror. Haruka stood violently, more quickly than he would have thought possible, and looked around with wide eyes. She screamed, a scream that formed itself into a name, the green-haired girl from Hufflepuff, one of her few and closest friends. She ran out of the room, again a great deal more quickly than he would have thought possible, and he stood to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Michiru, Usagi, Lindsey, Serenity, and Minako doing the same, and filed that fact away for further consideration at a later time.   
  
For now, he just ran.   
  
* * *  
  
The Gates of Time were in flux. Like a TV screen with such horrible reception that all one could see is static, the Gates of Time had been unusable since, well, since they had all reversed back to eleven years old so unexpectedly. The Guardian of Time no longer had control of the Time Stream. Well, she had never had control anyway . . . Time has no master. But she had been able to influence events, through what it showed to her.  
  
What it chose to show her. Because, despite what her logic centers informed her of, she knew that Time was alive, after its own manner of living. There was just a little too much irony in what she saw ahead of time–and what she didn't see–for it to be simple coincidence. Not that she believed in coincidences, anyway.   
  
She might not ever admit it to any of the other senshi, but stopping time this time had been hard. Not in the consequences, but in the actual action itself. She remembered so clearly the last time she had stopped time . . . right before the helicopter had blown up. Then, although the consequences were great, the actual action itself had been . . . simple. A focus of the will, a bend in the stream of time, and it was done.   
  
This time . . . the time stream had nearly slipped from her grasp, not once but several times. And that scared her, ever so much . . . more than anyone else could ever possibly understand–more, she was afraid of what it might mean. Almost as if Time no longer recognized her as its guardian, was no longer willing to grant her the limited use of its powers. Oh yes, the signs had certainly appeared, and she had taken note of them. It was quite obvious that something would happen soon, something that would change the relationship between herself and Time. Occasionally, she wished there was someone she could talk to–like her mother, or even Pluto–that would understand what she was going through. Someone who could explain the situation to her, for once. So she wouldn't have to go on, pretending to everyone that nothing could possibly be wrong . . . while waiting patiently, anxiously, for the other shoe to drop.  
  
This explains why she wasn't particularly surprised when, in the middle of History of Magic, she felt the first serious crack in her bond with the Gates of Time, a splintering, complete destruction of the bond step by step, growing worse and more painful every breath she took. Why, as the pain grew worse but was still bearable, she staggered out into the hall away from class, away from the human beings who couldn't possibly understand . . . and even more importantly, away from her fellow senshi who just might.   
  
She staggered blindly, not consciously aware that every choice of paths in the twisting halls made brought her closer to the Potions classroom. Closer to the one person she had the closest relationship with, who would support her even though she didn't, couldn't possibly, understand. And, when the pain became too much even for her to handle, she crumpled . . . and when she could hold it in no longer, she screamed.   
  
* * *  
  
I tore down the hallways, headed unerringly towards the History of Magic room and the horrible, tearing pain that echoed through my skull. Everyone was in class at that time, so there were no obstacles for me to deal with in my haphazard passage towards my goal–a good thing, since I probably would have run them down with all the subtlety (and less attention payed to them) of a freight train.   
  
By the time I reached Setsuna, I had become so frantic with worry that I almost tripped over her, before slowing enough to recognize her as the objective I had been running towards. I knelt beside her. What's wrong? A verbal question, followed by a querying probe.   
  
Not stopping screaming for a moment, even mentally she was nearly incoherent. . . . contact . . . Gates . . . breaking . . .  
  
Give me a key, and I'll go check out the situation. There must be something we can do! By that time, not only was I frantic with worry for her, but about the entire world. Something very severe would have to happen to cut her off from the Gates of Time, and those were the only Gates I could think of that she'd be likely to be talking about.   
  
She stopped screaming, and the cessation of noise was, in its own way, nearly as horrible as the screams had been. Growing steadily paler, she smiled encouragingly as she struggled to get up. And I, knowing nothing I could say would change her mind, had to stand there, helpless, and let her. No. I will . . . come too. I must . . .  
  
We glanced around. The hall, amazingly enough, remained empty of anyone except the two of us. Still leaning heavily on me, she brought out her staff, the garnet orb growing dim. Take us to the Gates through which the Stream of Time flows . . . the orb, previously so ominously dim, began to flare painfully, and I was suddenly aware that she spoke in no language I had ever learned, in either life . . . yet I could understand her perfectly . . . at the Beginning and at the End . . . the garnet glow enveloped both of us, a strange feeling, yet one I knew would not hurt me. A hand tentatively touched my shoulder, and I began to turn . . .  
  
. . . open the road before us!  
  
And we disappeared.   
  
* * *  
  
We reappeared right in front of the Gates of Time. And before our horrified eyes, a crack appeared, running roughly diagonal across the entire immense structure. Tearing herself from my grasp, Setsuna limped forward and laid her tiny hands against the ancient doorway, rested her forehead against the cool metal, and cried. The pain still remained, nearly as powerfully as before–I could tell through our link–but it had been subliminated by her truly phenomenal power of will.   
  
Is it something I did? She whispered sadly, still in that strange language that I could somehow understand perfectly. Am I no longer good enough? I will pass on the guardianship, if that is what you want . . . if that is what you need . . . just don't die. The breaking of the link tears me up so much inside, I can hardly stand it . . . but I can live on without the link . . . if you die, I'll die too. Even unlinked, I am tied so tightly to you . . . I wish I knew what to do.   
  
I understood the last wish all to well. I wished I knew what to do, to heal the breach between Inner and Outer Senshi. To open up to others. But most of all . . . I wished I knew how to make Setsuna better again. How to help her through such an experience as I never had . . . and hope I never will . . . an experience I can't even understand.   
  
All I could do was walk up and hold her. Let her know that someone else was there for her. That I didn't care whether she remained guardian of time or not, as long as she remained Setsuna. Hold her as Michiru and I had held each other, those times when the right path seemed dim and hard to navigate, when we felt we no longer had the strength to go on, we drew strength from one another.   
  
The pain welled up closer to the surface, but I helped her push it back down. Keep it out of the way of what must be done. She drew herself up and brought the silver staff, symbol of her position, into being. I, Meiou Setsuna, Princess and Avatar of Pluto, hereditary Guardian of the Gates of Time, hereby renounce, the crack grew larger and split in several places, and Setsuna paused, unsure, before continuing. For now and forever more, my place as Guardian of Thy Gates. As proof, I return the Time Staff to thee. She held it out, and it shimmered with a violet-black light, leaving only the Garnet Orb. So mote it be. The orb also shimmered in the garnet light that was purely Setsuna, recombining itself with her the way it had been for so long, before all three of our talismans had been brought into the light.   
  
With an anguished groan, the Gates shuddered and collapsed in on themselves, until only a pile of rubble remained. Setsuna turned to me, eyes wild. Did I do the right thing?  
  
I . . . I searched myself, and found a small niggling feeling of wrongness–one so small that I hadn't even noticed its existence until I went searching for it–that seemed somehow slightly more right. Yes, Setsuna. You did the right thing.  
  
Oh good. I'm . . . She slumped over, breathing slowing.   
  
I called with both mind and voice. Setsuna? No, you can't leave me! I won't let you leave me again, damn it!   
  
Garnet eyes fluttered open, and her hand reached up shakily to touch me gently on the cheek. Silly Haruka. I'd never leave you, not really. I'm just . . . taking a . . . short . . . vacation . . . It is you who has always left me . . . Not an accusation, but an accepting sorrow.  
  
Never again. Not for anyone or anything. I promise.  
  
* * *  
  
What is going on? Snape stared around into the all-encompassing mists, certain that they were no place he had ever seen before, and quite possibly no longer even on Earth. Where are we?   
  
Looking up from where she knelt by the side of her fallen friend, Haruka smiled slightly. A contemplative look in her eyes, she brushed silky strands of hair out of her eyes and back behind an ear. To answer your second question first, we are at the Gates of Time. As to what is going on–that is entirely too long a story to tell in one sitting . . . or to a person I trust less than absolutely. The implication being that she did not trust him nearly that much.   
  
What language were you speaking in?   
  
Her forehead wrinkled as she frowned in thought. I don't know. It just . . . happened. Setsuna probably knows, though.   
  
What's wrong with her?   
  
I think . . . it's backlash from the breaking of her link to the Gates of Time. But I don't know, so I don't know how I can help, or even if I can! Setsuna's face had grown pale, and there were lines around her eyes where she clenched them tightly shut, even in the coma-like state she had fallen into. I just don't know . . . She wiped her eyes angrily with a free hand, then sighed. But until she wakes up, we're stuck here.   
  
And though uttered lightly, the words seemed heavy with a feeling of doom.   
  
_Until she wakes up, we're stuck here. And when will she wake up?_  
  
* * *  
  
Chibiusa bit her nails nervously. Haruka and Snape had both disappeared . . . and probably Puu as well . . . and no one had seemed to notice. Professor Quirrell had been substituted in as Potions teacher (and was doing about as effective a job here as in Defense against the Dark Arts). Added to that, her time key felt different. Not . . . alive seemed silly, but it was the best way she could think of to put it. It seemed dead, and somehow heavier as well. She looked over at Michiru, sitting placidly at her desk. She would have thought Michiru, at least, would be more worried.   
  
Quirrell dismissed class, and she rushed over to Michiru. Do you think Haruka is all right? She asked, desperate for reassurance. Surely if anyone knew, it would be the teal-haired violinist.   
  
The other girl looked up, slight confusion in her eyes. Haruka? Who is that?  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
18. To Forget and to be Forgotten  
  
So we just sit here and wait until she wakes up?   
  
Got any better ideas? Haruka snapped, kicking an illusory stone further into the mists. Because if you do, I'd sure love to hear them!   
  
Snape smiled. He could remember many times when, after staying up too late studying (or engaging in other activities), Hiroshi would snap at him in just that way after he made a stupid error. What are you smiling at?   
  
You remind me so much, in so many ways, of your father. Why, if you cut your hair, you'd even look exactly like Hiroshi!   
  
Haruka had started to boil over, he saw, and mourned whatever terrible mistake Hiroshi had made. But then, just as suddenly, she stopped. Did you say . . . Hiroshi?   
  
Yes, of course! Who else would your father be?   
  
Let me make sure I've got this straight. Hiroshi Ten'ou. Blonde hair, blue-green eyes. Younger of two brothers. Kinda quiet, but smiles a lot. You following me so far?   
  
Yes, that sounds like Hiroshi to me. Although I must admit, I haven't seen him for at least fifteen years now, he can't have changed that much.  
  
He died in a car crash when I was six. Haruka stated flatly. Less than a week before . . . well, never mind that.   
  
Hiroshi didn't die. As far as I know, he's still alive and well. Snape frowned. It was his older brother, Ichiro, and his wife who died in the crash five years ago–I remember him writing me a letter about it.   
  
Ichiro died? Haruka's eyes widened impossibly large. Darkish hair, same blue-green eyes, short, nasty, and all around (including especially personality) ugly as hell? That Ichiro?  
  
Mind your language. Snape replied automatically, before smirking. I must admit your assessment is right on the mark, however. Yes, that Ichiro Ten'ou.   
  
So let me see if I understand this all correctly. Ichiro is dead, in a car crash five years ago, and Hiroshi, the *younger* brother, is my father?   
  
Yes. Of course.   
  
Haruka bounced up and around, stopping briefly to hug Snape. I'm sorry, I misjudged you. If you were friends with Uncle Hiroshi, you're a pretty cool guy. Then she was off again. YES! He's dead! And gone! He will never haunt me again! I dance a German polka and a tango on his grave! I'M FREE!   
  
And Snape was left, once again, with the inescapeable conclusion that he had missed something.   
  
* * *  
  
After Haruka calmed down adequately, she smiled apologetically at Snape. I'm sorry I flew off the handle at you like that. It really wasn't fair of me to tar you with the same brush as . . . HIM. All I can say is that I reacted without thinking . . . and by the time I began thinking again, I had forgotten the name you used. My friends are always telling me I ought to learn to control my temper better.   
  
She sighed. It's hard to believe that Uncle Hiroshi is my father. I mean, I never got to know him well, since he practically never came over to visit. I don't think they got along too well, Uncle Hiroshi and HIM.  
  
What I find hard to believe is that you could be the daughter of anyone *but* Hiroshi. Your hair, your eyes are exactly alike. And even more than that . . . your willingness to tell people when they are being stupid, your sense of justice, your loyalty to your friends is even stronger than his, though, I think.   
  
Haruka sat, lost in thought, before looking up at Snape. Professor Snape? Would you be willing to tell me about him? Uncle Hiroshi . . . my father? And somehow that one simple phrase had changed from a synonym for hatred to something almost . . . warm. Rather nice, even. Finally, she had found the fundamental change in her life that this switching of realities had brought. And, like all the others–parents who had not died, schisms that had never happened–it was undeniably a good change.  
  
Snape thought back, and a gentle smile rose to his face. Let's see. The first time I met Hiroshi, he was not in that great of a mood. He had just been assigned to Slytherin, of all places . . .  
  
* * *  
  
The boy with short blonde hair sat on the rooftop and mourned, alone with only his guitar for company. If anyone had been around, approaching more closely they might have heard the mournful chords he strummed, and the words he sang, ever so softly.   
  
  
  
//To think that only yesterday,  
I was cheerful bright and gay;  
Looking forward to, well, who wouldn't do  
The role I was about to play:  
  
But as if to knock me down,  
Reality came around;  
And without so much as a mere touch,  
Cut me into little pieces:  
  
Leaving me to doubt, talk about,  
God in his mercy,  
who if he really does exist  
why did he desert me  
in my hour of need?  
  
I truly am indeed  
Alone again, naturally.//  
  
  
  
He sighed. My angel . . . Uranus . . . you left me without even a hint that you would do so, the same way Haruka did. I thought we had become closer than that. I thought you understood me better, understood how much your friendship meant to me.  
  
Self-conscious laugh. Would you believe, I even miss Haruka? More than that Michiru girl does–which is funny. Even I, as emotionally stunted as I am, noticed that Haruka and Michiru had something really special going on. I'd like to tell you about Haruka . . . but you left me, most likely for good.   
  
He stood up, going towards the stairs. At the top, before starting down, he turned to look back at the empty roof top. I suppose I don't really blame you. The only one in my life who hasn't left me is my father–perhaps the one person that I wish most would. But . . . if you've moved on, to another troubled person like the true angel you are . . . I hope you make as big, as deep an impact on their life as you have on mine. Goodbye. His last word rang with finality in the early morning air on the now empty rooftop, as he disappeared silently into the building.   
  
* * *  
  
The pink-haired girl turned, curious, at the other girl's strident call.   
  
Mako-chan! It's nice to see you again. She smiled. What can I do for you?   
  
Do you know where Haruka and Setsuna are? I just got a real bad feeling, that something bad had happened to them. Just out of sight, beginning to turn the corner that would bring him into view, Draco froze and slid back a bit.   
  
Chibiusa's expression froze, and Makoto's face fell. I'm too late, aren't I.   
  
Something happened. Chibiusa bowed her head, the words falling softly but distinctly audible in the dead silent hall. I don't know what. But Haruka, Puu, and Professor Snape all disappeared.   
  
Professor Snape. Draco's brow furrowed. He was sure he had heard that name somewhere . . . but where had it been? He concentrated, and slowly it came back to him. Professor Severus Snape. Potions instructor, and Head of Slytherin. Black hair and black eyes. Distinctly disliked Potter–even moreso than Draco himself, whose dislike was mostly inspired by his ingrained habits of sarcasm and ridicule and by his father. Yes, now Draco remembered Snape–so why had he ever forgotten? He tuned back in to the conversation.   
  
. . . doesn't work anymore. And *no one* remembers any of them, Mako-chan.   
  
Don't tell me Michiru has forgotten Haruka! Makoto's voice was frankly disbelieving. Those two are *solid* Chibiusa. Always have been, and always will be. It's like a regular law of nature or something. Even *this* didn't shake their relationship. I don't believe that Michiru could forget Haruka, just like that.  
  
Ask her yourself. Chibiusa's voice flattened with despair. And I quote–'Haruka? Who is that?'   
  
Yes, who is Haruka? Michiru's smooth, cultured tones washed over those present. You never did get around to telling me, Chibiusa. Much less why I would be likely to know about this person.   
  
The rest of that conversation was lost to Draco as he walked away, head down. He had much to think on.  
  
* * *  
  
No way! Uncle Hiroshi had a crush on Michiru's mother? That is so totally weird! Haruka laughed, hanging onto every word Snape spoke about their many adventures back then.   
  
Michiru is Sachiko's daughter? Somehow, I'm not surprised, although Michiru is a great deal quieter than Sachiko ever was. She always seemed to be falling into one scrape or another–usually with what's-his-name . . . Aki! Usually with Aki Kaiou–Michiru's father?   
  
I can easily believe that. Haruka laughingly related some of the tricks Michiru's father had suggested they pull. I really ought to try the one with the fudgesicle and paperclips at some point–though I don't know where I'd be able to find a fudgesicle. And then again, I don't know who I'd pull it on.   
  
You always used to play your dirtiest tricks on Malfoy. May I ask why you stopped? You haven't done anything more harmful than issuing cutting remarks, lately.   
  
I . . . I really didn't want to reveal our early morning talk sessions. Those were something special, just between the two of us–and then I'd have to explain how it is that Draco didn't recognize me. Finally I shrugged. I just haven't really been in the mood recently.   
  
All interest in out conversation was broken as I felt Setsuna stir back into wakefulness. . . . 'ruka . . .  
  
What is it, Setsuna? I immediately dashed to her side as she opened her eyes slightly. Don't try to talk. You're still too weak.  
  
*cough* Silly 'Ruka. You worry too much. I'll *hack* be fine soon enough. I just need to regain my strength.  
  
I held her. Don't worry. I'll take care of you until then.   
  
No. She tried to sit up. You must . . . go on. Without me, if necessary. The longer we are trapped here, the harder it will be to leave–and as we stay, everyone's memory of us will grow dimmer and dimmer . . . if they haven't forgotten already. You *must* find Pluto. He will help . . . She slumped, by all appearances having returned to that coma-like state. . . . find pluto . . . The echo whispered.   
  
But how? I don't know where he is, or even what he looks like! This is hopeless.   
  
Flutter of eyelashes as her eyes reopened briefly. . . . he has a strange sense of humor. Look for a huge . . . ominous . . . black castle. He'll probably be . . . there . . .  
  
And this time, there remained no echo of near-consciousness. I looked around through the all-encompassing greyish mists. I'm sorry, Setsuna, but there is no imposing black castle. And even were it feet away from me, I doubt I could see it.   
  
_Will even Michiru forget? No, I won't, I can't believe that. She's stronger than that, we both are. Oh, Michiru . . . please . . . remember me, until I can find a way to return . . .  
  
* * *  
  
_Small Lady, this is *not* a good idea. You don't even know if it will work! I doubt LunaP even exists anymore . . . and you're too old to be using it in any case.   
  
You know I mean this in absolutely the nicest way . . . shut up, Diana. I am going to hypnotise Professor Binn, and there is *absolutely* *nothing* you can say or do to stop me. Doing the musicals without Haruka and Puu would not only be mean, it would be absolutely wrong.   
  
The pink-haired girl continued walking down the hall with a determined stride as the small grey cat fell behind and stopped, sighing. But he's a ghost. You don't even know if the hypnotism will work. But will you listen to me? No, of course not, you just go along in your own stubborn fashion, doing what you believe is right. Why do I even bother? Wearily, she continued after Chibiusa. Perhaps, if she was there, she'd be able to prevent at least a little of the chaos that would almost certainly occur.   
  
Following a carefully casual distance behind the cat, Draco raised his eyebrows. So the cat talked, in human speech no less. And hypnotism? Did the girl actually believe it would work? Well . . . obviously so, but why? This was bound to be interesting.   
  
He paused a short way away from the classroom, waiting until the pink-haired girl had gone in and left before ambling up to the room himself. He had his own two cents to insert, after all.   
  
At the doorway, he heard a mumble from Professor Binns. Now what was that all about?  
  
Tell me, professor, he drawled, leaning against the doorjamb, do you remember a certain Slytherin student who goes by the name of Haruka?   
  
Of course. The professor brushed the query off as beneath his notice. Why wouldn't I?   
  
Because Usagi, a Hufflepuff named Makoto, and I are the only ones who do. Draco stated quietly. There may be a couple more, I'm not certain. But that is why Usagi tried–unsuccessfully, I presume–to hypnotize you.   
  
You're not making any sense, Malfoy. Delivered in a flat tone of voice.  
  
Usagi believes–a belief I agree with, by the way–that doing the musicals without Haruka's presence would not only by horridly unfair, it also just wouldn't be the same. As much as I dislike the blonde, she brings life to everything she does, and everyone she is around. She ought to be here, not wherever she, that green-haired Hufflepuff first year, and Professor Snape disappeared off to.   
  
Who are you, and what did you do with Draco Malfoy? Professor Binns asked.   
  
Draco laughed. Malfoy hasn't existed for a couple of weeks now. You see, I met an angel one morning . . . and found no reason, anymore, to allow him to continue to exist. So now, all that remains is me . . . and a convenient mask I hide behind. He shook his head. Everyone I know has become so accustomed to Malfoy . . . Draco, I think, would make them nervous. Look at you, after all.  
  
Very true . . . Draco. Perhaps there is more to you than I originally thought.   
  
Of course there is. Whose idea got accepted by the class, after all? He grinned, and left the room. _I entrusted my soul to my angel. And now that she's gone . . . there is no one who knows me. Perhaps I may show myself to someone else, someday . . . but not soon. Not until there is someone I _know_ I can trust, even more than I trusted her.  
  
* * *  
  
_I'm disappointed in you. The voice resonated throughout the all-encompassing black darkness. I thought you understood our cause, but no, as soon as I turn my back you run off and forget everything I've taught you.   
  
_Even in my dreams_. The boy curled up into an even tighter ball. _Maybe if I ignore him, he'll leave. Oh God, let him leave soon. I can't take this. Not anymore. Not since . . ._  
  
Look at you, stooping even to associate yourself with the commonest of Muggles–that Haruka person. You disgust me.   
  
But . . . Haruka is my enemy! He raised his head with surprise. Of all the points he had expected to be brought up, this was not one of them. You should know that.   
  
Is she? You would not miss an enemy, you would just give thanks that she had died or left. But you miss her, don't you?   
  
No! Of course not! Why would I! His denials grew more and more frantic as he stopped trying to convince the voice, and began trying even to convince himself. _I *don't* miss her. Why would I? Just . . . because she brightens the lives of everyone around her simply by existing? Because I've grown to look forward to our daily battles of wits nearly as much as I have the early morning conversations with my angel . . . both of which are now gone. Leaving me, as always, alone again, naturally. Why not admit it, at least to myself? I *do* miss her, oh how I do . . . but not because I like her or anything!_  
  
The darkness coalesced to form an image of the one person he most hated. You are no longer any son of mine. He said, disgust rife in his cultured voice. And now, you must be disposed of.   
  
A wand appeared, as the sonorous voice began. _Avada . . ._  
  
He didn't care anymore. Why should he? The only person who had ever seemed to care for his existance had disappeared into thin air–leaving the only other person who had ever put on even a façade of caring to kill him. Nothing mattered anymore, and so he prepared to let the darkness swallow him permanently. A sickly green light appeared, dim at first, then began to grow in both size and luminosity.   
  
The voice cut off and his father disappeared, leaving a surprised silence.   
  
You can't die yet. A soft, gentle voice remonstrated. One that reminded him of his angel in one of her more introspective moments. You still have too much yet to do, too many important roles to play, too much of an impact left to make on the lives of too many other people. I won't let you suicide on me, and I won't let your father kill you, either.  
  
He found his voice, hoarse and rusty, but there. Why me? Surely there are better people than me for you to choose–for whatever it is you are planning. To be honest, even Haruka is a better person than I am. A great deal better.   
  
Was that a muffled chuckle? Haruka has her own role to play, though her life and the lives of many others are also closely intertwined with yours. But this . . . this is your destiny–yours and no one else's.  
  
_I don't understand.  
  
_And, an accompanying thought that he knew was not his own, _but you will in time._ Another feeling of a suppressed chuckle._ In time, everything will become clear._  
  
* * *  
  
When the dreamscape around her changed to a place that she had never before in this life seen, yet held a feeling of aching familiarity, she merely smiled as the accompanying memories began to seep back. She sighed lightly, closed her eyes, and turned around slowly, reveling in sensations she had not felt for ever so long. Ah, Saturn . . . it's been a long time. She murmured. Far too long.   
  
It has, hasn't it. Another voice remarked quietly. I've missed you.   
  
She turned to see a young girl with dark violet hair, about waist-length and left free, and black eyes that seemed to suck in the light as well as the attention of anyone nearby. The two girls rushed each other and embraced. Oh, Saturn-chan, I've missed you too. Even when I didn't remember you.   
  
You do know, don't you, that your memories of that time are more whole than any except Setsuna . . . and Haruka now.   
  
Setsuna . . . Haruka . . . who are . . . oh, right! The girl smacked herself on the forehead. Man, I can't believe I actually forgot Setsuna-mama and Haruka-papa!   
  
Well . . . Saturn laughed nervously. I may _(inadvertently, of course)_ have something to do with that.   
  
Hotaru glared. It's not just me who forgot them, it's everyone else too. Spill.   
  
Well, you see . . . Setsuna doesn't fit the Time Gates anymore. She could still control them, just barely, but sooner or later they would have broken loose. So I ganged up on Pluto and got him to prod the Gates just that little extra bit so that Setsuna would go and see what went wrong, and then we could confront her and get her to abdicate the position then.   
  
Something went wrong. Hotaru sighed.   
  
Well, yeah. For one thing, I didn't expect her to drag Haruka and Snape along with her–though Haruka at least _(stupid me)_ should have been self-evident. Then, instead of merely being overstressed, the Time Gates shattered when Setsuna abdicated her position. Now, whoever takes the position up _(and I do have an eye on someone)_ will have to rebuild them completely from scratch. In addition, all three of them are trapped at the Gates until they can find a way to reach Pluto–rather hard to do, even when he's in a good mood. And believe me, with everything that went wrong with this operation, that is definitely one thing he is not.  
  
Saturn sighed, and sat on a chair-high treestump that appeared at her random thought, resting her head in her hands. I've made such a mess of things!   
  
Hotaru was struck with a horrifying thought. You didn't call me here because . . .  
  
Short laugh. Oh, heavens no! No, you are Sailor Saturn, and Sailor Saturn hasn't been Guardian of the Time Gates for simply forever–they decided that concentrated too much power in a single person, you see, being senshi of destruction, rebirth, *and* time. So they shoved it off on the poor Sailors Pluto instead, since originally they weren't all that useful in a knock-down, drag-out fight. Healers, mostly.  
  
Cocked head. Actually, you called me here, if anything. I was rather surprised, until I remembered . . .   
  
Remembered what?   
  
I remembered that this was one power up that you would recieve directly from me, instead of through an intermediary, and one that would come to you only when you were truly ready. Readiness can determined when you call me, and I remember. And now I have. She held out her hands, shimmering violet-black. If you don't think you're ready, you don't have to take this. You'll just go back to sleep and ordinary dreams, and forget that any of this ever occured.   
  
I . . . Hotaru became mesmerized by the shimmer. She shook her head lightly. I'm ready. Her hands reached out to clasp those of the humanoid representation of her guardian planet, and she smiled. Saturn Eternal Make Up!  
  
The violet-black light expanded and enwrapped Hotaru, until she seemed completely covered by a shimmering cocoon. The cocoon broke, steadying itself on either side of her body as a pair of great, feathery wings in a deep, intense, light-devouring black. The sash around her waist, with a bow in the back and long, nearly ankle-length trails, held the same shade of black as her wings. The dress itself, a little shorter than knee-length with sleeves in the same torn-looking pattern as those of her original fuku, was made of a deeply violet cloth, recognizably that color even though it was only a few shades lighter than the black.  
  
She twirled again, as she had when the dreamscape first appeared, reveling in the feeling of freedom the wings gave her. And as the Saturnian dreamscape faded away to black, Saturn winked and smirked, her soft voice reaching Hotaru easily through the ever widening distance. Oh, Hotaru? How would you like to have a sibling?   
  
_?? But I'm an only child. Even in the Silver Millennium–I remember that much. So what could she possibly have meant?   
  
Oh well. If her gleeful expression is any indication . . . I'll be finding out soon enough._


	10. Original Version: Ch 19 through 36

And the second half of the original verson.   
  
I 0wnz0r H4RRy P077eR 4nD S4iL0Rm00N.   
  
If you can decipher that, you're smart enough to know it's not true.   
  
  
19. Adjustments . . . and Quidditch  
  
In the room where first-year Slytherin boys slept, one sat up, staring into the darkness of an unlit room, so much safer than the broodingly evil darkness of that dream. Until the voice appeared. He propped his chin in his hands, staring into the darkness as if it held the answer, as if by piercing the veil of dark with his silvery eyes, he could see the face of the being who had saved him.   
  
Who are you? He whispered, but the darkness did not reply. And, uneasily, he returned to sleep.   
  
* * *  
  
The day of the first Quidditch match of the season had arrived. Slytherin vs. Gryffindor, the most intense of all the rivalries, and with Harry Potter as Gryffindor's new Seeker, promised a game well worth watching, as the entirety of the school turned out to spectate.   
  
Draco wiped his eyes and yawned surrepitiously. He had managed to escape both Crabbe and Goyle, and in fact was preparing to watch the game from his customary morning place on the roof, with a pair of binoculars. These binoculars, Muggle-made, bought when his father had turned his back, were a symbol to Draco of his first act of rebellion. But more importantly, they also gave him a wonderful view of the game, from a place where he didn't have to be near people who expected him to be Malfoy.   
  
The former night, what with dreams of his father and his near-death experience, had not been a very restful one for him, and even now he was on the verge of going to sleep where he lay. Had he had class, he probably *would* have gone to sleep, but his present state of relaxation was almost as good as sleep would have been at counteracting his exhaustion. Better–for relaxation brings no disturbing dreams.   
  
Laying on his stomach at the edge of the roof, he brought the binoculars up to his eyes, and the game came into sharp focus, just as it began. Draco had to admit, if only to himself, that Potter did well in the role of Seeker. He'd like to believe that he could do as well–but of course he would not know that until he proved it, in much the same manner as Potter was, now.   
  
Of course, Haruka had been a better flier than either of them–but no one remembered that now. The game continued, Gryffindor scoring two hits, Slytherin none, as Draco watched with bated breath.   
  
Then it happened. Potter's broomstick began to buck, leaving the black-haired boy unable to do much more than hold on. Draco tried hard to summon up a sense of elation–it was Potter, after all, experiencing this trouble. Potter, his nemesis. Except he wasn't, not anymore. Haruka had earned that title instead. But even if Haruka had been in Potter's place . . . _Sometimes, your enemies can keep you grounded, as well as or even better than the best of friends_. And he had no friends.   
  
So it was along with the entirety of Gryffindor and far too few Slytherins that Draco hoped Potter would regain control, would show himself to be alright. Then his attention was abruptly diverted by movement out of the corner of the viewable area of the binoculars. He turned that way to see Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain, flying straight toward the Gryffindor goals, now unguarded because of everyone's intense concentration on Potter, the Quaffle in hand.   
  
Draco's eyes narrowed angrily. He wanted his team to win, yes, but not at the expense of fair play. He *had* changed, drastically, he realized. Before he came here, he would not have hesitated to allow Flint to cheat that way, he probably would even have cheered the other boy on.   
  
Like his father. Draco's anger flared and grew, and he focused it all on the other Slytherin. He stood and brought out his wand, using one of the few spells he knew by heart. _Wingardium Leviosa_. Though little more than a whisper in volume, he more than made up for that with pure intensity. The Quaffle wrenched itself from Flint's grip and flew straight through a empty space between the suspended hoops, flying off the field entirely, as Flint looked down at his hands, still holding a Quaffle-shaped space of air.   
  
And Draco smiled.   
  
* * *  
  
_Why do I feel so . . . empty?_ She sighed, the wind ruffling her hair. _It's like something important, something integral to my being suddenly disappeared. _Reaching up, to push her hair out of her eyes, a glint of gold suddenly caught her attention. A gold ring, one she had no recollection of having ever worn, or even of having recieved.   
  
She took it off and held it out, the sun reflecting off it and sending out little flashes that burnt their way into her retinas. _Why? Why do I have this ring?_ Her hand clenched around the tiny object, as if afraid that, otherwise, it would somehow disappear. _And why does the thought of losing it wrench my heart so badly? It's not like it is a symbol of anything, or a gift from someone I care for greatly–so why should it matter what happens to it? _The ring was returned to her finger, where it *belonged*, as she stood alone, and believed that that was the way it had alway been.   
  
The way she had always been. Alone.   
  
* * *  
  
I can carry her too, you know. Snape told Haruka, watching the girl stumble on, her unconcious friend in her arms. I still don't understand what we're doing, anyway.   
  
We're looking for anything out of the ordinary. Haruka grunted, shifting Setsuna slightly. She made no reply to Snape's offer, stalking onward while grumbling about strength and transformations of some sort.   
  
Is that ordinary? Snape nodded towards a small, thatched cottage with a straw roof.   
  
Haruka brightened. You know, in it's own way, that's even funnier than a ominous black castle. It may just be what we're looking for. Come on, let's go see. A spring in her step, she walked towards the cottage. Snape, feeling he had no choice, followed.  
  
Closer up, the cottage looked to be much bigger than it had seemed at first–a two or three room house, at least. And stepping out through the door, the owner of the house–a young woman with an apparent age in the early twenties and silver hair. Catching sight of the three travelers, she first smiled welcomingly, before her eyes widened in horror. Pointing a finger at the two senshi, she whispered, Mist Dome!  
  
Immediately the everpresent mists reached up, enveloping the astonished girl and her unconscious cargo, closing them away in an impenetrable dome. It worked?! The girl gasped. It actually worked, on beings of that great a power?!  
  
Snape's eye twitched. _Well, they did manage to defeat the troll without any aid . . . but they're both still in training. They're in first year, for crying out loud! Beings of great power, indeed._ The unknown silver-haired girl turned her attention towards him, and he tensed slightly. What did you do to my students?   
  
Students? Those two? The silver-haired girl shook her head. I don't mean to be rude, but what could you possibly know that's worth teaching to people with that much power already?   
  
Come on. They're not *that* powerful. They are only first year students.   
  
Neither is what she seems to be. She frowned darkly at the sphere. I don't *sense* a dark taint on either of them . . . but I'm not sure I'd be able to recognize it if I ever did see it–although my teachers assure me it's unmistakeable.   
  
Snape snorted. Ornery, suspicious, hotheaded, and possessor of one of the worst senses of humor I have yet to encounter, Haruka is. Evil, she definitely is not.   
  
Haruka is her name? The silver-haired girl asked. She closed her eyes, but moments later they blinked back open, frustrated. Nay, 'tis only a use-name. It's not her real name. I cannot feel anything from the name Haruka.   
  
Why have you pinned them in that sphere of yours? I assure you, we mean you no harm. We're just passing through here in search for . . . something or someone. Can't you please let them go?   
  
She twitched. I believe you–I know you speak the truth as you see it. But *no one* is that powerful anymore. I don't think there ever was–but my grandmother claims that our Princess of Pluto was very powerful . . . within that order of magnitude, at least. Even unconscious, the green-haired girl is leaking power out the ears . . . I can't believe you can't sense it!   
  
Pluto. That struck a chord. Snape sat, eyes closed in concentration. Finally, the words came back to him. _I, Meiou Setsuna, Princess and Avatar of Pluto, hereditary Guardian of the Gates of Time . . ._ Concentrating as he was on the verbal symbols, words that held no meaning for him, he at first was unaware of the girl's wide-eyed stare.   
  
Where did you hear that? She demanded.   
  
It's part of what Setsuna said when we first arrived in this place. What does it mean?   
  
The girl repeated it slowly back to him in English. I *think* that's what it said. But it's in a dialect of Plutonian that was ancient even long before the Exodus. The only reason I even recognize it is that they teach it in school. Her eyes widened. But that means . . . I imprisoned my princess?!   
  
* * *  
  
I stared at the shimmering, misty wall, and suppressed the urge to yell, kick, curse, or in any other way express my frustration. I wasn't going to give my captor (if the girl could see through her own creation) that satisfaction. Instead, I sat there and waited. I never knew the Gates of Time were inhabited.   
  
Neither did I, not really. Setsuna's soft voice stopped as she coughed. It's probably another of those bits of important information that slipped through the cracks when I was reborn. That tends to happen.   
  
Hai. After all, until our bond reactivated, I couldn't even remember my death–probably because it wasn't the spectacular sort of affair the Inner Senshi's were. I didn't even really *die*, just kind of . . . slid from living to nonliving.   
  
Setsuna grinned slightly. What a silly thing to get pissed off about.   
  
I'm not . . . I paused to reconsider. Whaddaya know, I am. I guess it's because I feel like if I'm going to die, I should at least die doing something *useful*. The last words came out with venom that surprised even me. Or doing something I hope will somehow prove to be useful, even if it doesn't end up that way. Not just . . . slipping away, pointlessly. I punched a nearby wall. It yielded slightly, but showed no other effects.   
  
S'better than not dying at all. Setsuna asserted moodily. How long have I been out?   
  
Don't know. No sun to tell time with, and I forgot to put my watch on before we . . . left.   
  
Why don't you just take out your communicator? It *does* double as a watch, you know.   
  
I smiled guiltily, opening an empty hand. I gave it to Draco.  
  
That brought Setsuna to full wakefulness. You gave it to DRACO?! I thought you hated him.   
  
At first . . . hm, maybe. But really, Setsuna. With all we've been through, can you really imagine any *human* being able to summon up that depth of emotion necessary for hatred? Dislike, annoyance, yes, but after confronting beings who had nothing better to do than going around destroying things (planets, galaxies . . .), what ordinary person can possibly measure up to that?   
  
You have a point. Setsuna peered at me. You know, 'Ruka . . . you look older.   
  
I squinted at my friend. So do you . . . I think. Yeah, you look just *exactly* like you did when you were fourteen.   
  
Setsuna's hand immediately rose to her right cheek, and I laughed. Minus the Pimple. The Pimple had been the bane of fourteen-year-old Setsuna's existance, marring her perfect, acne-free skin. I had always enjoyed teasing her about it–she was far to sensitive on that subject for her own good.   
  
Not. Funny. Setsuna ground out. Take this! She began pelting me with bean-bags. Not to be upstaged, I threw them back and added in a few of my own for good measure.   
  
You seem to be feeling better.   
  
Amazingly good, in fact. Setsuna smiled. Much better than I should be at this point.   
  
The wall dropped as suddenly as it had appeared, and Setsuna (who now looked about seventeen–I could only assume the same held true for me) collapsed. I dashed forward and caught her, before turning to *look* at the person who had locked us in there.  
  
She cried. I didn't realize that she was my princess I looked around instinctively for Usagi and that was why she had such great power levels. Are you the Moon Princess?   
  
Blonde hair. Blue(-ish) eyes. Okay, I can *almost* understand how she might make that mistake. But that didn't keep me from falling over, I was laughing so hard. No. Oh, Kami-sama no. The two of us could not be any more different if we consciously tried.  
  
Haruka? You look older–I almost didn't recognize you.   
  
I smiled at Snape. On the contrary, I look exactly perfectly myself again. And you look younger. Late twenties or so. I turned to the silver-haired girl. Now, could you please explain why you made that unprovoked attack on us?   
  
She found a sudden interest in the ground. You took me by surprise, showing up like that. Both of you are just *so* *powerful* that I, well . . . I freaked out. I was just so afraid that you would be hostile–and given the chance and the will to do so, either of you could probably wipe me out with both hands and feet tied behind your back, without breaking into a sweat.   
  
I laughed a bit. Put that way . . . I don't blame you one bit. But since we're free now, I assume Professor Snape convinced you of the truth.   
  
He quoted ancient Plutonian at me. That–especially considering *what* ancient Plutonian he quoted at me, convinced my that she, she nodded down at Setsuna, is Princess Pluto. I still, however, do not know who you are. Venus?   
  
And I had only just gotten up, when she had to send me falling to the floor laughing again. Okay, I'll take that as a no. Funny, I'd think you'd make a good senshi of love. Have you ever tried to laugh and twitch at the same time? Somehow, I managed. Come on, I mean, me, the ultimate tomboy (although I admit I have mellowed, slightly), as senshi of love? So that means you must be Princess Uranus. I thought you kept your hair short, though.   
  
I got up and shrugged. This last time we were reborn' I decided to let it grow out. It starts giving me trouble, and I'll happily chop it off again, though.   
  
Well, it's nice to meet you, Princess Uranus. I am Melisande. She held out her hand and, after a brief pause, I took it and shook it.   
  
Please, call me Haruka. I've kinda gotten out of the habit of thinking of myself as a princess. If I had ever been *in* that habit–which I rather doubted. My mother had always been so much of a Queen that I compensated by never really being much of a Princess–or that's the way I remembered it. However, considering the (still, if less so) swiss-cheesed state of my memories . . .  
  
What's wrong with the . . . ah, Princess Pluto? Melisande asked, eyes wide and scared. She just . . . collapsed–and you were carrying her when you first arrived.  
  
None of us know. I looked down at the face of my beloved oldest friend and sighed. I *think* it may have something to do with the fact that she severed her link with the Gates of Time, but that's only a guess.   
  
The Gates no longer have a Keeper? Her violet eyes widened even further (a feat I hadn't thought possible) and she began gnawing nervously at a fingernail. That is not good. That is *so* not good.   
  
* * *  
  
Did you *see* how the Quaffle just levitated itself out of Flint-bakayarou's hands? Chibiusa exulted, grinning happily. The only thing that could possibly have made it better is if *I* had been the one who did it.   
  
Draco smiled slightly, savouring the human contact (he did not count contact with Crabbe and Goyle as *human*, for obvious reasons) that he knew would be broken off as soon as the pink-haired girl realized who she was talking to. Also, he understood her feelings–except, since *he* was the one who had done it, the situation had turned out to be just about all around perfect.   
  
The game was taking a break–unlike major Quidditch leagues, Dumbledore and the other administrators had decided unanimously that breaks *would* be taken for meals and sleep. Not for classes, though. Those were suspended until the game ended. No one having caught the Golden Snitch yet, the score was 50-30 in Gryffindor's favor.   
  
Draco didn't mind too much. It might have helped, had he been the person he started off the semester as–the person that was *Slytherin*, almost in the You-Know-Who sense of the word even (although he didn't think he had ever been quite *that* bad). Now, he didn't really care who won, as long as the game was played fair. Who knows, if the game ran on long enough, he might even get a chance to play!   
  
Yeah . . .  
  
On the threshold of their parting of ways, Draco dragged himself from his happy fantasies long enough to ask the pink-haired girl, What does bakayarou mean?   
  
She looked him straight in the face, grey eyes meeting reddish-brown. Sure enough, there was the anger and the disgust. She turned and left.  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
20. Viridian, Violet, and Silver  
  
Considering the short period of time we have left until Christmas break, I have decided to postpone the musicals unit until after we come back.   
  
Hotaru stared at the notice up on the announcements board in the Ravenclaw common room, and sighed. The sigh had a strange echo, and she turned to see Ami. A pity. I was really looking forward to that unit. The blue-haired girl shrugged. Oh well. At least this will give me time to learn some more spells that might be useful for setup, props, and so forth. What about you, Hotaru?   
  
Well, it's not like we're having any classes now, anyway. She replied, then smiled suddenly. Actually, I'm rather glad. I wouldn't have wanted Setsuna to miss this.   
  
Ami's brow furrowed. Is she a new friend of yours, Hotaru?  
  
Hotaru's eyes grew sad, and her shoulders slumped. Yeah. She's a very special friend of mine . . . a figment of my imagination. _Oh, Haruka-papa, Setsuna-mama . . . where are you?_  
  
* * *  
  
Eyes burning with unshed tears, Hotaru returned to the room where she and Makoto had had so much fun making fun of the weather. Leaning out the window, she looked up into a blue sky, depressingly clear. Setsuna-mama . . . Haruka-papa . . . Where are you? . . . I miss you.  
  
A sigh. I'm sure, wherever they are, they miss you too.   
  
Hotaru turned around, eyes wide with a combination of desperate hope and pessimism. Makoto had not said whoever, but *wherever*. Whispering, she asked, You remember them too?   
  
Makoto nodded. I do. I have since the beginning.  
  
Hotaru leapt into the older girl's arms, no longer trying to restrain her tears. I only just remembered last night . . . I can't believe I forgot Haruka-papa and Setsuna-mama, of all people!   
  
Makoto smiled down wryly. Don't feel too bad. Even Michiru has forgotten.   
  
Hotaru was no change from any of the others who had discovered this surprising news. She stepped back, frankly disbelieving. No way. Everyone else I *might* believe, but not Michiru-mama.   
  
Chibiusa said that her Time Key feels dead. I'm afraid . . . that they may be trapped at the Gates of Time. If so, that may be forcing everyone to forget they ever existed–with a few notable exceptions.   
  
Chibiusa because of her connection to the Time Gates . . . Hotaru nodded, belatedly remembering what Saturn had said. But what about you, and me? Does anyone else remember?   
  
I don't think so. As for the two of us–we're both . . . Makoto spread her arms like wings.   
  
You are . . . Hotaru trailed off. Amazing, I didn't even notice, until you pointed it out. Has anyone else . . .?   
  
Both Haruka and Setsuna. Ah . . . that may be why only we can remember them!   
  
_And the source of their growing bond . . . the one that has (or had) Michiru so depressed._ Hotaru nodded to herself. Another piece fell nicely into the puzzle. _If only I could *tell* her . . ._  
  
Makoto smiled encouragingly. Don't worry. If anyone can make it back . . . it'll be those two.   
  
* * *  
  
The blonde boy turned, carefully hiding once again behind the mask of Malfoy.  
  
Yes, Crabbe, Goyle, what is it? He was seized with an itchy feeling, an almost uncontrollable urge to get far away, fast. His two former henchpeople did not frighten him–even if they had, enough of prideful Malfoy remained for him to deny that accusation–but they did make him exceedingly nervous. It was as if they were the slime he felt himself to have so recently been contaminated with, as well.   
  
We feel that you've been avoiding us recently. Crabbe stated ponderously. And that just ain't good of you.   
  
Yeah. What would your father say?   
  
Malfoy walked to the window, mostly in a vain attempt to put a little more distance between himself and the other two. As he looked down over the grounds, still frosted over from the early morning dew, he came to a realization. _Avada Kedavr . . . _He had protection now, even better prtotection than that which his angel had offered, before she abandoned him.   
  
But even without protection, he realized that he grew tired of all the hiding, all the games. He turned around to look at the two people that he no longer wanted to be associated with in any way, and smiled brilliantly. You know, I only just now realized this . . . but I don't care anymore. You can tell my father that if you wish. He swept past them, seeing with satisfaction the way their jaws had dropped when he made his pronouncement.   
  
All of a sudden, the morning seemed brighter, somehow.   
  
* * *  
  
He sat on the rooftop, fiddling with his gloves, eyes trained on the match about to begin below. Despite the undeniable correctness of his actions, he was beginning to feel a trace of nervousness as to what Crabbe and Goyle might try to do to him now.   
  
Perhaps he ought to make friends with some of the other people? That German girl, perhaps. Chibiusa or the auburn-haired Hufflepuff girl–they might be better choices, as they might know why he remembered Haruka the way they, and no others, did. Looking down at the green dragon-skin gloves encasing his hands, he sighed despondently. Like that would ever happen. Everyone within Slytherin knew him as Malfoy, and everyone outside of Slytherin knew him as a Slytherin. Who was he fooling to think anyone would be interested in making friends with him?   
  
The watch caught his attention, and he took it off, holding it up to the light. Her gift to him. Evidently of pure gold, the blue top flipped up to show the time, surrounded by nine of those mysterious buttons. Enameled onto the top was a sigil–of Uranus, and hadn't she said that was her name? The time showed was perpetually ten hours ahead–perhaps she, like Haruka, was Japanese.   
  
His finger poised over the navy button for an endless moment, before he let his hand fall reluctantly back to his side. He didn't *need* her help.   
  
It's not like loneliness ever killed anyone. He ought to know.  
  
* * *  
  
I'm young again. The black-haired man stared at his face in the mirror, astonished. Like I was my last year at Hogwarts. Seventeen.   
  
I'm adolescent again. Right behind him, the blonde-haired face of his best friend's daughter smiled. Like I was . . . She trailed off, and her smile disappeared. Come on. Let's go find Pluto.   
  
It's imperative, before everyone completely forgets our existence. Excessively pale, Setsuna seemed otherwise alright. Seeing the stubborn cast to her friend's face, she sighed inwardly. _They've probably all forgotten us already . . . even Michiru. I'm sorry, Haruka._  
  
Surely they won't have forgotted us in such a short period of time! Snape scoffed. _Though if we continue looking like this, they may not _recognize_ us when we get back._  
  
The Misty Realms have their own rules. Melisande said quietly. It is very likely, even taking into account the mere days you have been here, that they have all already forgotten your existance.   
  
All the more reason for us to find Pluto quickly. Setsuna replied simply. And if he tries to hide from us, I'm going to kick his rear twice as hard as I'm already planning to. She grinned wickedly. Just let him wait until I get my strength back, and *POW*!   
  
Melisande laughed, then blushed, looking extremely guilty about doing so. To cover up her red cheeks, she turned. Shall we go?   
  
* * *  
  
What the HELL do you think you've been doing? The deep voice, oozing evil, asked angrily. I told you to get rid of Potter, and what have you done? Nothing! Pitiful fool.   
  
I . . . A quavering, nervous voice began, I've been trying, honestly I have, my Lord. And you saw me that first day, I almost managed it then! If those fools hadn't jostled me on their way down the bleachers . . .   
  
And what have you done since then? Nothing! The school does nothing but play Quidditch these last couple of days, and you can not even get up the courage to try once again? I ought to get rid of you permanently!   
  
Oh Lord, please, I beg of you, I will get rid of Potter, I promise! Just give me one last chance, and I promise I will succeed!   
  
The deep voice snorted. Fool. Very well, you shall have your chance. Now get to it, before I change my mind.   
  
Yes Master! Thank you, thank you, thank you Master! I promise, I will not fail you again, Master.   
  
_Empty promises. Have I truly fallen so low as to have to deal with such fools as this? Perhaps I ought to give Lucius a call . . ._  
  
* * *  
  
The next morning, as everyone came down for breakfast, the score was 140-120, in Slytherin's favor, and the Golden Snitch had still not been found (although it had been called back to be packed up overnight, so there was no risk of it having just plain disappeared). Still in their green robes to celebrate House pride, the Slytherins celebrated. On the other side of the hall, red-robed Gryffindors sulked and spoke of a dramatic change as soon as the game reconvened. They *would* *not* lose to Slytherin. Both teams eagerly awaited dismissal from breakfast to the Quidditch field.  
  
In their classic black robes, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws chatted amiably about the game–the mose exciting game in years, even the teachers concurred. A temporary (relative) lull in conversation heralded the appearance of the owls with the daily post, followed by an explosion of talk, back up at least to the previous levels.   
  
Hotaru sighed silently, though she kept her smiling face up for the others' benefit. Her father rarely ever sent mail–it wasn't that he didn't love her, never that, but he was so busy, and so absentminded, that he simply . . . forgot.   
  
Sure enough, no letter landed at her place. But, she noticed, with her smile growing wider and a great deal more sincere, Makoto had. Mako-chan had her family back, and that made Hotaru exceedingly happy–the loss of her parents had always weighed so heavily on the auburn-haired girl, though she refused to let it show, and now that she had them back . . .  
  
Her smile froze as Makoto stood up, rushing out of the room with anguish written clearly across her face. Determined, Hotaru stood up and followed after her quickly. Forget Quidditch–this was infinitely more important.   
  
* * *  
  
She found Makoto, finally, in what she had come to think of as their special meeting room. The other girl was curled up in a corner, silently shaking. Hotaru went over and knelt by her side. Mako-chan . . . what's wrong?   
  
They . . . my parents . . . they said they're coming to visit me for Christmas Break. Instead of my going home. They want to see where I'm studying. She paused and took a deep breath, obviously coming to the center of her distress. They . . . Hotaru, they're flying here. And I'm so afraid I'm going to lose them again . . .  
  
Have you ever told them of your feelings? Hotaru asked patiently.  
  
They don't even know that I'm Sailor Jupiter, much less that I'm not the Makoto they raised for eleven years. What could I say?  
  
You really ought to, Mako-chan. This . . . Event . . . has given us a second chance in many ways. For you, a second chance to get to know your parents. They deserve to know what you didn't have a chance to tell them in our other life–I know that Michiru's parents know this time around, though in this case, I think it was a decision her other self made–especially since she's not estranged from them anymore.   
  
Makoto nodded. I've . . . been considering it. When I came home so late that first night, it worried them so much . . . I felt absolutely awful. She nodded. I think I will tell them. She stopped. But . . . I look different now in senshi form, so they might not believe me.   
  
What do you look like? Hotaru asked eagerly. . . . If you don't mind showing me, that is.   
  
Makoto smiled. I will if you will.   
  
It's a deal. Saturn Eternal Make Up!  
  
Jupiter Eternal Make Up!   
  
Staring at each other in their newly revealed princess forms, both smiled shyly. They reached out, touching hands in a great flash of light that knocked both senseless.  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
21. Memories II  
  
Would you mind if I join you? The auburn-haired princess of Jupiter looked up from her homework to see a nervous young black-haired girl, fidgeting nervously from foot to foot.  
  
She waved at the empty seat on the other side of the table. The seat's open. Please, be my guest.   
  
Thank you. The other girl smiled shyly, sitting down gracefully. What's your name?  
  
I . . . Jupiter swallowed. If she gave her use-name, the other girl would know for sure who she was, and she didn't *want* to be seen as a princess. Yet she had *promised* she wouldn't tell her real name to anyone she didn't absolutely trust, and she had only just *met* this girl! What's yours?   
  
Eh heh . . . The other girl seemed consumed by the same dilemma as she had been. . . . yeah. I can see that neither of us wants to give our name, and if your reason is anything like mine, I don't blame you. So . . . call me . . . how about Shin?   
  
. . . Okay, Shin. Why don't you call me . . . ah . . . Sora!   
  
Nice to meet you, Sora.   
  
Equally pleased to meet you, I'm sure, Shin.   
  
And the two girls with the same secret to hide from each other smiled, content with the knowledge that they had each made a friend–one of their first.  
  
* * *  
  
Could the royal family of the moon get any less interesting? Shin groused, studying a chart that she had made up. Serenity I, Serenity II, Serenity, Serenity, Serenity! Don't they have any imagination at all? She turned. Hey, Sora! Do you remember which Serenity liked broccoli?   
  
Sora snorted. Of all the *useless* things to have to know! . . . Serenity XLIII, I think.   
  
Thanks. Man, why do they make us learn about the interminable list of Serenities, anyway? I'll bet you the current princess doesn't have to learn to list the Queens of Saturn, back to the umpteenth generation.   
  
Considering the fact that only their usenames are released to the public, I can hardly think an interminable list of Saturns would be any more exciting.   
  
True. But at least on Saturn their *real* names aren't the same too. I've heard that even real names are the exact same for each Serenity–practically the only distinguishing feature is hair color.   
  
It all turns silver when they ascend to the throne, though. Sora pointed out. So we fall back on little differences, such as Queen Serenity the XLIII, the Broccoli-Lover. The two grinned at each other. Or Princess Serenity LXVIII, the Blonde Airhead.   
  
Shin snorted in an attempt to hold in her laughter. Finally she couldn't hold it in any longer. She does have a good heart, though. She protested through her giggles. And as for the rest . . . maybe she'll grow out of it.   
  
We can only hope.   
  
* * *  
  
I'm the Princess of Jupiter. Sora admitted. I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn't want to be my friend–or even worse, that you would want to become my friend solely because I *am* a princess. But . . . I've felt awful about hiding it, hiding *anything* from you. If you don't want to be my friend anymore, I'll understand.   
  
Shin sighed. As long as secrets are coming out, I might as well tell you mine, though you may not want to be friends with *me*, once I finish. She paused, and took a deep breath. In the same quiet, sad voice, she continued, I told you once that I come from Saturn but that I'm currently living with relatives here on Jupiter. What I never told you, however, was why. She lifted the bangs from her forehead and closed her eyes.   
  
Beginning from her forehead, a glow enwrapped the girl, lifting her about a foot off the floor and clearly revealing the violet sigil of Saturn, the Silent Planet. She opened her eyes. You see? With myself revealed, people were afraid that our doom has come upon us. They hated me for what I stand for, for the power that I inherited, the first in over twelve generations to do so.   
  
Gently, she touched back down. I couldn't stay on Saturn. My very presence . . . endangered everyone around me. So I was brought here, in secret, while my parents circulated the rumor that I had died under mysterious circumstances. Only my parents, yours, and Queen Serenity know that I now live here on Jupiter–and neither your parents nor Queen Serenity knows that it is me who bears the burden of this power.   
  
Jupiter smiled wryly. I think you're right. Your secret is definitely worse than mine. But . . . I'd still like to be friends. As you said, that power seems to be more of a burden than anything else, to me . . . and I know you. You wouldn't hurt a fly if you could possibly avoid doing so. So are we still friends, Shin? She stressed the name that had now been transformed to a private joke between the two.   
  
If you truly don't mind . . . Saturn's smile grew like the dawning of the sun after weeks of rain. Yes, Sora. We're still friends.   
  
The Queen of Jupiter rushed in. Daughter! When we felt the power of Saturn, we were afraid for you. Are you all right? Saturn didn't hurt you, did she?   
  
Jupiter smiled up into her mother's eyes, suddenly as calm and strong as the tall oaks that were Jupiter's most famed attraction. Shin and I have been the only ones in here since this morning. I don't know who Saturn is, but Shin would never hurt me.   
  
* * *  
  
Where were you? Sora asked, upset. We were supposed to meet for a study session, but you weren't there! I tried to call you, but I couldn't reach you–though at least I could still feel that you were alive, which is something, I suppose.   
  
Shin sighed, smiling weakly. My parents summoned me back, temporarily. They have decided to reveal me to the other outer senshi, at least, and chose yesterday to do so–the date of Uranus and Pluto's formal bonding to each other.  
  
Uranus and Pluto bonded? Sora smiled. I had wondered if they would.   
  
I could see it coming too.  
  
Do you know if anyone else has?   
  
I know Neptune hasn't. You're in more of a position to know about the inners.   
  
Sora smiled suddenly, leaning back. And wouldn't they have a fit if they knew about us . . .   
  
Shin grinned back. But of course! That's the fun part!   
  
* * *  
  
You must be proud. Shin squeezed her friend's hand as they watched the ship take off on a course towards Earth. It is an honor.   
  
Sora rubbed her eyes. Yes. It is an honor. She sniffed. But . . . oh, Shin, I'm going to miss him so much! She turned, bawling into the shoulder of her slightly shorter friend.   
  
Hotaru nodded. I'll miss him too. He's always been like an older brother to me. She cracked a smile. Even including the practical jokes, the good-natured bullying, and all around being as annoying as possible. Her face became solemn, as she gazed upwards towards the rapidly disappearing point of light. I'm worried about him, Sora. And I don't know why.   
  
Sora froze, dismissing her tears as a chill of fear trickled down her back. Nephrite . . . no! I won't let anything happen to him!  
  
And if anything does, I'll help you kick the perpetrator so hard he won't be able to sit down for a week. Shin nodded firmly. Oh, don't worry about it, Sora. It's probably just something I ate–precognition doesn't run in my family, thank goodness.   
  
Sora shook off her growing feelings of unease and smiled back. I'm sure you're right.  
  
* * *  
  
Tag! You're it! Shin laughed, and ran.   
  
Oh no you don't! Sora growled, dashing after the shorter girl. Come back here! She looked around–her black-haired friend and bonded was nowhere in sight. An evil smile curled her lips. Two could play that game. With little more than a thought, she felt down her bond to Shin–it would not tell her exact location, but with their bond, she could . . .  
  
Her body shimmered for a moment as she *twisted* herself to be Elsewhere, then she disappeared completely with a muted pop. Reappearing right in front of Shin, she reached out. Tag! You're it!   
  
Hey, no fair! Shin protested, folding her arms.   
  
Sora grinned and shrugged. All's fair in love, war, and games of tag. Besides, you should have known better.   
  
  
  
Besides, there's something I had to tell you. Sora sighed, looking at the ground. My parents . . . they insisted I go train with the other senshi, on the Moon. We *are* supposed to be guarding the princess, after all.   
  
And I'm trapped here. Seems like I'm always trapped, one way or the other. Not a guardian of the princess, not a guardian of the outer solar system, not even a guardian of time . . . I'm just the unwanted, feared guest.   
  
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Sora commanded. As long as I have a single breath left in my body, there will be at least one person who does *not* hate you, fear you, or in any way strive to make you feel unwanted. I bet the other senshi would like you too, if you gave them the chance.   
  
Shin smiled weakly. I'll take your word for it. This time it was the black-haired girl who angrily scrubbed unwanted tears from her eyes. And after all, we will keep in contact. It's not like I'll never see you again. An uncomfortable silence fell. I guess this is goodbye, then.   
  
No, this is not goodbye! With us, it will never be goodbye. This is merely . . . see you later. Perhaps a week, perhaps a month or a year, I don't know how long it will be before we see each other again, but we will. That I promise.   
  
* * *  
  
Despite the distance between them, the two kept in contact. Lately, though, it felt like Sora was trying to hide something from her. And that had Shin worried. Although she had always been an exceptional student, lately she just couldn't focus through the the intense cloud of worry.   
  
She looked up, dully. Oh, the teacher had been trying to gain her attention. Could you tell me which Queen of the Moon had a taste for broccoli?  
  
Queen Serenity the Forty-Third. Shin answered, a small smile flitting across her face as she remembered those peaceful afternoons spent in the palace library.   
  
Shin? Her head came up at the mental call. They're attacking the palace. We're trying to hold them off, but we can't last much longer . . . oh my God, Nephrite! He's . . . he's brainwashed, I know he is, that's the only reason he'd ever attack us like this–Endymion's Guard is in charge of the army. The enemy army. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I was afraid you'd do something drastic.   
  
Behind the words came a stream of images . . . the princess, killing herself over the dead body of her beloved . . . Endymion's four Guardians advancing on the palace, an army of youma at their backs . . . and Beryl, queen of an insignificant territory of Earth, blackening the sky with her visage and deafening the onlookers with her uncanny laugh. Shin's eyes began to glow a deep violet. I . . . I'm sorry . . . goodbye, Shin. Their bond shattered, and Shin doubled over in agony. _But Sora, you promised . . . never goodbye . . ._  
  
Shin? Are you all right, Shin?   
  
She came to with the caring visage of her history teacher covering her field of vision. Sitting up, her eyes became as cold as ice, though tears leaked out despite her efforts to stop them. Beryl has invaded the Moon Palace. The Princess is dead. Soon, we will all be as well. The time for hiding is past. She stood, shaking her head at the offered hand up. The girl you knew as Shin never existed. Call me Saturn. A hysterical giggle bubbled up. Call me Hotaru, if you like! It's not like anything matters anymore!   
  
She bowed to the class. Thank you for allowing me a normal life while it lasted. I hope, for your sakes, that your ends will be swift and painless. Now, I must leave. A twitch of her wrist brought the Silence Glaive to her hand–that dreaded weapon she had never before held, her birthright. With it came incredible power, as she morphed for the first time into her violet and burgundy fuku.   
  
Tracing her way along the shattered remnants of their bond, like following a trail of broken glass, she found the Elsewhere she sought. With one, final nod of her head, she *twisted* to that place. _Goodbye . . ._  
  
She reappeared at a scene of great devastation. The palace was in ruins, everyone fallen, dead or dying. Slowly, she made her way over to where her Queen lay, and paid her respects for the first and last time in her life to the silvery-lavender-haired woman. The Queen took in her mode of dress and weapon of choice with only a slight widening of her eyes. So, Saturn has returned. I am sorry, for your sake. In the background, Beryl laughed jarringly.   
  
I am sending everyone forward to be reborn. The Queen continued in a soft, introspective voice. As the two watched, bubbles formed around the princess and her beloved, erasing all wounds. The process has already begun. Before you are taken, though, would you do me one last favor?   
  
Saturn nodded gravely. It is my Destiny, that which I was born to fulfill.  
  
Serenity shook her head sadly. I am sorry it had to end this way. Sapped of the last remaining bit of strength, her head fell, eyes closing one final time.   
  
Voice choked with tears that she dared not shed, Saturn replied, So am I.   
  
Standing atop one pillar that remained standing, she watched as Beryl was sealed away by the awesome power the ginzuishou held. A bubble attempted to form around her, but she shook her head, slicing it open with her glaive. _It is not my time, not yet. There still remains one final thing for me to do._  
  
Raising the Silence Glaive high, the senshi of silence smiled coldly. This was her destiny, no matter how much she would have wished otherwise.   
  
Death Reborn Revolution!  
  
The glaive dropped.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
22. Mako-chan Reveals Her Secret  
  
  
  
  
  
Two girls with tear-streaked faces tackled each other in an enthusiastic hug. Makoto whispered. I told you we would never say a permanent goodbye.   
  
Hotaru turned up her nose, valiantly ignoring the tears of joy still streaking her cheeks. Excuse me, but you got far too close for comfort. Several times, I might add.   
  
And who is it who threw herself into the Tau system, intent on permanently destroying herself in order to take it along with her? Hm?   
  
Hotaru sighed. Guilty as charged. But if you ever do something that stupid and foolhardy again without me along to guard your back, I'll . . .  
  
Raise you from the dead just for the express pleasure of killing you through many excrutiatingly painful torture methods?   
  
Hotaru nodded consideringly. Something like that.   
  
Makoto grinned. My sentiments exactly.  
  
* * *  
  
mamochan + usako = 2gether 4ever  
  
Carefully, she drew the heart around her message, then stopped, looking down at the sheet of paper. A pensive look on her face, she continued idly doodling more small hearts, stars, flowers, and other manners of cute (and easy to draw) things. _Why . . ._  
  
He was her Mamo-chan, her beloved in both lives, dare she assume her soulmate? She loved him with all her heart and, despite the many problems with their relationship over the years, she knew that he loved her just as much.   
  
In a flash of anger, she wadded up the paper and threw it across the room into the trash can. It fell in with a satisfying *thunk* and she smiled briefly. Her coordination had increased somewhat these past months.   
  
They rarely ever spent time together anymore–tacitly, both had agreed that they needed time to adjust to the situation as a whole before trying to figure out their relationship, now that both were only eleven–still easily within the range of time where boys and girls regarded each other with suspicion as the carriers of .   
  
How much of their relationship had been nothing more than teenage hormones? She wanted to believe that hormones had had nothing to do with their relationship, but in retrospect, she was forced to admit they had probably played a rather large role, at least at first. The way they all had fallen for every pretty face they saw, back then . . . she remembered, vaguely, why, but no longer felt any of those urges.   
  
Why did she love Mamoru? Flopping back to lie prone, she stared up at the ceiling. He was strong and brave. And handsome as well, but with the absence of the majority of those hormones, handsome was only an aesthetic question, not an integral facet any longer. Smart–going to Azabu, planning to become a doctor someday. Gentle and kind . . . she could see him, very easily, as a wonderful pediatrician. The way he had always supported Chibiusa when she needed it–without the blinding jealousy factor, in hindsight, she could appreciate his actions and love him all the more for them.   
  
Yet . . . all her senshi possessed those characteristics as well. And she certainly wasn't in love with any of them. She loved them, yes, as a family, but it wasn't the same. So why did she love Mamoru specifically?   
  
Because . . . he was Mamoru. Her Mamo-chan. She couldn't think of a better answer, because there was none. Why she loved him, she did not know. But the fact that she did love him remained unchanged, and she gathered that fact tightly to her heart. Walking to the trash basket, she brought out and straightened out the piece of paper.   
  
With a red pen, she circled the 4ever' and added a little note at the bottom. Standing up to leave, the paper remained in the center of her bed, its message plain for all to see and read–assuming they could read her handwriting, that is.   
  
  
mamochan + usako = 2gether 4ever  
no matter what  
  
  
How do you do that shapechanging thing? Haruka asked as they walked. She, Setsuna, and Snape had all stabilized at roughly seventeen years old, temporally speaking. Currently their silver-haired guide wore the visage of a child, about six, and played the role to the hilt, skipping ahead while licking a cherry lollipop she had gotten from somewhere.   
  
Melisande shrugged. Dunno, really. I've been doing it for so long that I've almost forgotten how I learned. She paused. I think my grandmother said something about it being the effect of staying in the Misty Realms for an extended period of time. Lessee. When we're about ten, we go through this brief period of intense growth. The apparent age we stop at is known as our home' age, that which we're most comfortable being. After that, we can shift to just about any age at all, if we concentrate hard enough–though the farther we are from our home' age, the harder it is generally, and the less time we can hold it without significant effort, and without reverting to our home' age.  
  
As we grow and mature, sometimes our home' age changes–but by that time, we're usually in tune enough with the temporal rhythms of our own bodies to be able to sense the change.   
  
She grinned. My grandfather maintains that the Misty Realms do not induce this change–they just give us an opportunity to become more in tune with our temporal rhythms and provide us with enough ambient energy to make the change a relatively simple matter even for the normal' humans among us with no other talents. The grin took on a decidedly shark-like tinge. And just think, now I'll get to see for myself! Since I intend on returning to Earth with you whenever we catch up to Pluto.   
  
That bombshell successfully dropped, she skipped on, unconcerned.  
  
* * *  
  
So when are your parents planning on flying in? In a couple of weeks, I assume. Hotaru sat calmly as she watched Makoto pace.   
  
Makoto looked up. I don't know, the letter doesn't . . . TODAY?! She shrieked.   
  
Hotaru took the letter. This is postmarked a week and a half ago. I wonder what took it so long to get here?   
  
My parents are, technically, Muggles. They probably didn't know to use the owl post. Makoto replied absently. Today? The plane may have already crashed! Oh no . . . I can't lose them again. I don't think I'd be able to bear it . . .  
  
Then don't. Hotaru stated flatly, hoping to knock her friend out of the feedback loop she had trapped herself in. We can go check on them. Now, if you wish. We *can* teleport, after all.   
  
Oh yeah. Right. Makoto grinned weakly. I'm still getting used to this. Jupiter Eternal Make Up!  
  
Saturn Eternal Make Up! Shall we?   
  
For a brief moment in time, space *twisted*. Righting itself, air rushed with a small pop to fill the space the two girls had so recently taken up. Silence descended upon the now empty room.   
  
* * *  
  
Would you please get your wing out of my eye?   
  
Your wing feathers are the ones stuck up my nose! And I'm not even going to start on where your hand is . . .  
  
Heh heh . . . sorry.   
  
Yeah, yeah. Now, if you'd get your wings out of my nose too . . .  
  
Hm . . . After a brief moment of silence and concentration, the wings of both vanished. Makoto looked around. I'd forgotten how cramped airplane bathrooms are . . . It's been quite a while since I've been on one, after all.  
  
Hotaru briefly squeezed her friend's shoulder encouragingly. Remember, it may yet land safely. And even if it does crash, we *will* find a way to get everyone to safety in time. I promise.   
  
Straightening their skirts they opened the door and squeezed out, first Makoto, then Hotaru. You're going to have to point your parents out to me. Hotaru whispered. I don't think I'd recognize them.   
  
Walking quietly down the aisle, few people if any noticed them. In fact, the greatest response was that of a young man reading a newspaper, who looked up long enough to point to the fasten seatbelt' sign and comment that they really oughtn't be out of their seats right now.   
  
Providence seemed on their side this fine morning. No sooner had Makoto found her parents than she also noted that the two seats immediately behind them were empty. Both girls immediately sat down and, feeling rather self-conscious, fastened their seatbelts. I feel like I'm playing guardian angel. Makoto admitted sheepishly to Hotaru.   
  
Well, we do have the wings . . . now all we need are halos. The black-haired girl quipped. Suddenly the plane gave a shuddering jar. Though Makoto gripped her armrests more tightly, white around the lips with the effort it took to suppress her agitation, at first neither did anything. It could have just been turbulence, after all.   
  
Another jar, even more abrupt than the one before, accompanied by the sheer downward tilt the plane had fallen into, brought both girls leaping out of their seats. I'll hit the cockpit and see if there's anything I can do to help. Even as she thought-spoke, Hotaru was up and moving, her smooth glide eating up ground at a pace equivalent to an easy sprint with most others. Though I have no idea how much modern machinery differs from what I'm used to. So said the girl who puzzled out how to work one of the Jovian helicopters the royal family kept laying around, idle, simply because she was bored.   
  
* * *  
  
Hotaru asked, deadly cold anger burning behind her seemingly calm words. Do you know how many people died because of your actions? How many children were left orphaned, forever after afraid to even approach planes because of the scars left by this crash? At her feet lay the pilot, bleeding from a head wound taken when the bullet shot grazed him. Only luck had prevented him from dying this day. But even alive, he was too far away now, mentally, to be of any help. Even Hotaru did not know of any way to heal unconsciousness.   
  
A flame of devotion burned in his not quite sane eyes. What should I care for the deaths of those who chose to oppose the One True God? By taking them with me, I am guaranteed a place by his side. As for their children . . . the true scar upon their hearts is that of their ignorance of the glory that is the One True God . . .   
  
Hotaru put a hand to his forehead. She commanded. He collapsed, unconscious, into the copilot's seat. The copilot, she noticed with a pang, had not been so lucky as the pilot. That bullet looked to have gone straight through the brain.   
  
Sparing one last contemptuous glance for the would-be hijacker, she spat and turned her attention to the controls of the plane. _Filthy fanatics. And one who truly believes in an Ultimate Being that glories in (or at least glorifies) the deaths of those who do not serve Him . . . the worst of the lot, in my opinion._ Wiping her hands off on her skirt, as if even touching him had left her feeling unclean, she reached out and took the controls. Yes, this was familiar enough that she thought she could fly it. _ And people actually wonder what turned me off organized religion? As if _anyone_ knows what comes after death. Pfah. If anyone did, you'd think it would be me . . . _  
  
She flicked on the intercom. This is your . . . ah . . . temporary Captain, so to speak, speaking. The attempted hijacking has been dealt with. I repeat, although the pilot has been rather seriously injured, the hijacker has been dealt with. Don't worry, Mako-chan. I just put him to sleep. We are, however, back on course, and I project our arrival to be only slightly later than expected. Thank you.   
  
* * *  
  
Makoto was in a white-hot fury. Frankly, at this moment in time, she wouldn't have cared what happened to the hijacker. _Though thumbscrews sound nice. And stringing him up by his toenails. Practicing Chinese water torture with him. Iron Maiden, the rack . . . what else . . ._  
  
Ah . . young lady? You heard what the Captain said. The hijacker has been dealt with. Makoto's mother regarded her daughter (if she had known) with a leery eye, after gaining no response. You can sit down now.   
  
Makoto suddenly realized there were tears in her eyes. _I didn't lose them this time. I could do something to prevent it, this time . . . or Shin-chan could, at least._ She smiled brilliantly at her mother. _Yes. I _can_ sit down now. The danger is past._ Even had she tried to suppress it, that brilliant smile would have remained plastered on her face the entire remainder of the flight.   
  
So it's just as well that she didn't even try.  
  
* * *  
  
_What . . .?_ Please lie still. I'll only take a moment longer. A pleasant female voice said calmly. _My God, the hijacker! Oh . . . Jack . . ._ he mourned the loss of his co-pilot, friend, and confidante. He struggled to sit up, opening his eyes to look into a pair of amused violet ones.   
  
You really have a hard time listening to instructions, don't you. She said with amusement, then stood up. So short . . . she couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen, yet she spoke with the assurance of one at least twice that age. Fine then. You should be well enough now. She stood back and sat herself calmly in the copilot's seat as he stood up unsteadily and, as offhandedly as if she were merely commenting on the weather, continued, I've locked the hijacker in the front bathroom for the time being. He gaped at her, so casual about a man that might have cause the deaths of all on this plane . . . including himself. He spat mentally. _Filthy fanatics._  
  
She gestured with irritation to the empty pilot's seat. Look, the only reason I woke you is I'm not absolutely sure as to how to land this monster. If you're just going to stand there and dither, though, I'll be happy to give it a shot.   
  
With alacrity, he sat himself. So, this child thought she could fly *his* plane, did she? As they circled in for landing at the main London airport, he had to admit to himself that not only did she *think* she could fly his plane . . . she could fly it, and damn well to add to the bargain. In getting the plane this far, she had managed to shave off the extra time expended when the hijacker took over. _What is the world coming to, when an entire plane full of relatively responsible and intelligent adults has to be saved by a twelve-year-old?_  
  
Not until after the plane reached the ground safely and the passengers were beginning to disembark did he notice the long diagonal slash made down the center of the (now defunct) cockpit door–nearly half an inch thick, and solid steel all the way.   
  
The girl smiled when she saw the direction in which his eyes had drifted. Let's get together again sometime. Hopefully, this time, without the interference of crazy fanatic hijackers. I'm . . . She grinned. An inside joke of sorts, he supposed. Call me Shin.   
  
And my name is Jefferson Parker. He bowed slightly–it just somehow seemed the right thing to do.   
  
She shook his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Parker. Now, I'll get going. She grinned again. Leaving you with all the questions as to how you managed to defeat the hijacker and land the plane safely. Suiting words to actions she turned, melding easily with the flow of outgoing passengers.   
  
_Shin, huh?_ Jeff had a feeling that, whether or not he ever met the girl again, it would be quite a while before he forgot the black-haired sprite. _Perhaps we'll meet again.   
  
. . . Somehow, I'm looking forward to it._  
  
* * *  
  
So, was he cute? Makoto teased.   
  
Hm? I suppose so. Hotaru replied distantly. I didn't really notice.   
  
Makoto smacked her forehead, then sighed. Well, we're only eleven. I suppose I can allow you some leeway . . . for now.   
  
Hotaru snorted, a mischievous smile beginning to show. And here I was hoping you'd be *less* boy-crazy this time around. I guess it just gives you a chance for an early start.   
  
Easily, with none of the enmity marked by Rei and Usagi's relationship, the two stuck their tongues out at each other. And laughed. Some things, Hotaru admitted, will just never change, I guess. Now come on, let's get back to trailing your parents. After all, we wouldn't want them getting on the wrong train.   
  
Makoto smiled back. _And doesn't this feel strange . . . playing guardian angel for my parents, the ones who have always protected me._  
  
* * *  
  
They stood in the main London train station. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? What sort of name is that? Between platform nine and ten was a space of blank wall. Certainly no sign that indicated that 9 3/4 even existed. Both were inclined to believe it didn't.   
  
Don't look now, but those girls are following us again. Makoto's mother spoke quietly, glancing at the eleven-year-olds that had been trailing them in their journey from the airport. The same two girls who had taken the two empty seats behind them mid-flight–shortly before the hijacking.   
  
I wonder what they want? Shiro turned and made direct eye contact with the two girls, beckoning them over, as his wife sighed and rolled her eyes. As soon as they came close enough, he went straight to the point. Who are you, and why have you been following us?   
  
The one in violet grinned. We're you're guardian angels. Ow! She rubbed the spot where the other girl had jabbed her with an elbow.   
  
We're here to make sure you make it to Hogwarts safely. I believe you were looking for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? Follow me. She walked up to the wall and straight through. Both her parents gaped as she seemed to disappear into thin air.   
  
It's a protection to keep stray non-magical personae from discovering our platform. Hotaru explained. The problem is, no one can see the barrier, and children who have no relatives that have come to Hogwarts before don't even know it's there. The three had been walking towards the barrier. There really ought to be a better way, but I guess it's just that no one has thought one up yet. And they passed through, to an empty area. The bright 9 3/4 sign had gone out, leaving it hardly worthy of notice anymore.  
  
Makoto waved. The sign over here claims that this train only runs to and from Hogwarts at holidays, when the students will be riding it.   
  
Hotaru smacked her head. I should have known.   
  
So now what? Yui, Makoto's mother, asked.   
  
Now is as good a time as any to reveal your secret. Hotaru looked at Makoto. I think I will. I trust your parents.  
  
I would like to introduce myself. I am a good friend of your daughter. With a frown of concentration, she shifted back to her original senshif form.  
  
Sailor Saturn? Shiro breathed. With the glaive in Hotaru's hand, in addition to her distinctive dress, she could have been no one else. Hotaru nodded, and shifted back to civilian form.   
  
Yui recognized. But how . . .?   
  
We're, associates, so to speak. Makoto answered softly, shifting back through Super Sailor Jupiter, to simple Sailor Jupiter, and finally back to Makoto. I'm so sorry I never told you. She murmured into her mother's arms, the tears starting to flow. I was just so afraid you wouldn't approve, afraid you'd try to stop me . . . afraid I'd lose you again.   
  
We would have been indescribably proud of our daughter for protecting Earth. Shiro stated firmly, then mussed Makoto's hair playfully. We still are.   
  
But please, Ko-chan, don't ever keep a secret this big again. If you had died or been hurt seriously, and we had had no idea why . . . I don't think we could have borne it.   
  
Makoto smiled brilliantly through her tears. Never again, 'Kaasan. I promise.   
  
I recognized Sailor Jupiter . . . but who were you when you were on the plane? Yui asked with curiousity.   
  
Two pairs of hands reached out, and cupped within those hands a ball of power–moss green and violet-black respectively–grew slowly.   
  
Jupiter Eternal Make Up!  
  
Saturn Eternal Make Up!  
  
As the light died down, the full glory of their eternal forms was revealed.   
  
I am the senshi of death and rebirth, Eternal Sailor Saturn!  
  
I am the senshi of lightning, Eternal Sailor Jupiter!  
  
We have gained our next rank of power. Jupiter explained proudly. The third and fourth to do so–this time, each of us must complete a personal journey to reach this power, and none of the others can help.   
  
So please, don't tell any of the other senshi that we have gained this new power. Saturn requested softly. If they learn, their own personal journeys might be jeapordized in unseen ways.   
  
I promise. Shiro stated firmly, and Yui nodded her own acceptance. We won't breathe a word of this to anyone.  
  
Now . . . Jupiter drew the word out, sending Saturn a querying glance. Do you think?   
  
We can make it, with only two extras. Saturn affirmed confidently. Moving to stand on either side of Makoto's parents, they linked eyes, minds, and powers.   
  
The air shimmered, and the surrounding landscape flickered. To the eyes of Shiro and Yui, the scenery changed from an abandoned railroad platform to a pastoral rural picture, complete with a looming stone castle and a lake. Both girls detransformed, sharing silent bursts of congratulation.   
  
Finally, Makoto stepped forward and turned around. 'Kaasan, 'Tousan . . . I now bid you welcome . . . to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
23. Explosives  
  
I wonder if someone's caught the Golden Snitch yet? Makoto wondered idly as the four walked towards the Quidditch arena. I hope not–I'd rather not be skipping class.   
  
Hotaru replied in an affirmative tone of voice. Though if this game goes on much longer . . .   
  
This time, it was Makoto's turn to nod affirmatively. I never thought the day would come when I would actually *resent* being forced to miss class.   
  
Or that I'd actually, for once, enjoy school. Hotaru smiled quietly. Back at home, it's the same as always, but here . . . even if everyone did know of my talent, I really doubt many of them would care.   
  
They had reached the stands, but all were chock full. So, settling to the ground to watch, they looked upwards at the flying players and prepared to enjoy the show.   
  
* * *  
  
_I will not fail Him again._ In stark contrast to his stuttery voice, within his mind his voice was grimly determined and absolutely steady. As long as he didn't think of what He would do to him if he failed . . . but he wouldn't fail. He couldn't.   
  
His eyes sought out that certain place in the ground. Useful stuff, ah . . . TNT is what he thought the Muggles had called it. Very useful. As Potter dove towards that particular portion of ground, time seemed to slow. He raised his wand–slightly, and under the cover of his cloak, and began to pronounce the words. He did not know who had caused him to fail last time, but this time, he would *not* fail.   
  
Yes. Just as he had expected, the explosion was enormous and beautiful. He smiled grimly as he watched Potter's body go flying out of the explosion to land on the ground, broken and bleeding. He had succeeded, at last.   
  
* * *  
  
On the ground, they saw everything. The way the ground exploded outward, sending Harry and several other players unlucky enough to be caught by the edges of the blast flying. Hotaru stood immediately, without even conscious thought. Careless of the onlookers–of which, luckily enough, there were none–she raised her empty hand. Saturn Crystal Power, Make Up! Violet light flashed briefly, the subsided, showing a fully transformed Super Sailor Saturn, sans glaive.   
  
Jupiter Crystal Power, Make Up! Makoto knew that when Saturn needed extra strength, she would be better able to give that strength transformed.   
  
Try to find and move away anyone who's not seriously injured. I'll let you know if I need you.   
  
Shin . . . be careful.   
  
The first person Saturn came across happened to be Harry. Against her will, she gasped as she knelt by his side. Just about the only part of him that wasn't bent at an unnatural angle was his neck, it seemed at first. I'm dying . . . aren't I. The black-haired Boy Who Lived whispered sadly, then coughed up a mouthful of blood, his eyes already losing their focus.   
  
Not if I have anything to say about it. Saturn replied fiercely, placing her hands gently on either side of his head, the lavender glow of healing already appearing as she began to move his head back into position. You are going to live, because I won't let you die.  
  
She healed the ribs that were mere millimeters from jabbing a hole in his heart and his lungs, the compound fractures in most of the bones of his body, the spine. Nearly every part of him she healed, everything she could. Then she stood, woozy from all the energy that she had expended in his healing. And smiled. See, I told you. You won't die after all. Slowly she returned to her knees, then toppled over, head landing in a lap that was liberally stained with blood from gashes that no longer existed.   
  
Laboriously, the eleven-year-old boy sat up. I don't know your name . . . but thank you. I owe you my life.   
  
Her name is Saturn. An auburn-haired stranger knelt beside him. And I see that once again she has worn herself out completely, healing people.  
  
The only one she healed was me. I owe her my life because of that. Saturn . . . like one of the planets. He struggled to stand, then realized nothing was happening. My legs . . . His eyes went wide with horror. _Paraplegic. _His mind supplied the medical term clinically. _Kind of hard to play Quidditch when you can't move your legs, isn't it, Harry?_  
  
The auburn-haired girl had been joined by two adults . . . without robes. Dressed in normal Muggle clothes. Could one of you take Saturn? She asked without looking up. I'll take Harry. She picked him up. Come on, let's get you back to Gryffindor. Unless you'd rather go to the Hospital Wing?   
  
Harry did not reply.   
  
* * *  
  
Four six-year-olds skipped down a misty path, until one of them tripped over a rock that most likely did not exist and fell on his face. The other three stopped and gathered around as he picked himself up.   
  
I'm no good at skipping. Chibi-Severus grumbled.   
  
Aw, don't be such a party-pooper. Chibi-Haruka bounced around, clearly enjoying the sensation. You just need to get in touch with your inner child. Skipping is fun!   
  
So says one who has never fallen on her face before. He shot back, then looked around. Are we there yet? He asked plaintively.   
  
Melisande laughed, then frowned slightly. But remember, it probably isn't still there. Hopefully, though, we'll find a clue as to where it is now.   
  
Suddenly, it seemed they had rounded a corner of the mists, as they came upon a clear and decidedly un-misty clearing. In the center, a smallish portal swirled, visibly growing smaller as they watched. Melisande went up and held her hand in front of it. It seems to be attuned to to your reality. The bad thing is . . . I don't think it's made for more than a single person to pass through.   
  
The other three exchanged glances. You go, Uncle Severus. Haruka finally said with a sigh. We're better equipped to survive here than you are.   
  
Setsuna smiled wryly, then turned to Melisande. Do we have time to write out messages for him to carry through?   
  
She hesitated. Perhaps one, if you make it short. Both nodded, then brought paper and ball-point pens out of their subspace pockets with a grin.   
  
I knew I'd be glad that I hid these away someday. Haruka smirked as she scribbled. Finally, she finished, and closed it. If anyone asks where we are, take them someplace alone and tell them the entire truth. Otherwise, don't mention us at all. Haruka was operating on the assumption that anyone not a senshi would long since have forgotten them.   
  
Setsuna shook her head. We can't be sure who has forgotten. She handed him a piece of paper. If one of these people asks, tell them, the entire truth. Otherwise, scratch your head, look dumb, and say nothing.   
  
Haruka handed him her sealed letter. Here. This is for Malfoy. Now go, before it closes.   
  
Snape tucked both letters away. If you two are really sure about this . . . Unconsciously, he morphed to twenty-ish–what seemed to be his equivalent of a home age.  
  
Both replied.  
  
First Haruka, then Setsuna, and finally Melisande, he hugged. Take care of yourselves. He ordered gruffly. And return soon. I don't want to have to teach Potions for too long without my favorite troublemaker.   
  
He stepped through the portal, now only barely large enough, and disappeared. With his departure, the portal, too, disappeared.   
  
* * *  
  
The explosion . . . Draco had never seen anything like it. It was horrendous in its scope, blowing a hole that took out at least a third of the Quidditch field. And the bodies . . . they had started moving again shortly after the shock wore off. All except one. _Potter . . . I wish I could have done something to stop it. I would have, if I could have.   
  
_Gryffindor hates Slytherin. Slytherin hates Gryffindor. Wasn't that a school rule or something? Draco didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that there was a boy out there, about his age, that was almost certainly either dying or already dead. And there was *nothing* he could do about it.   
  
He turned away from the devastated field, instead gazing up into the disarmingly beautiful blue sky. Irrationally, he found himself growing increasingly enraged with the sky. How *dare* it look so beautiful, so calm, so peaceful, when there were people who had been injured. When there was someone who was most likely killed.   
  
And for a moment, he found himself distracted, wondering. _Why did I hate Potter? I can't really remember anymore. Funny._ He stood, and went downstairs. He could no longer stand not knowing.  
  
No sooner had he left than Snape stepped, seemingly, out of thin air. And as he gazed down upon the devastated Quidditch field, uncomfortably aware of the letter and the list he held hidden in his robes, his eyes widened. _What has happened? Surely I have not been gone that long! _  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, a speck of gold flashed and, using reflexes long forgotten, he instinctively caught it. _The Golden Snitch . . . if the game's still on, I can't have been gone that long. _Tossing the now quiescent golden ball upwards and catching it in a smooth, practiced, motion, he began whistling as he prepared to descend the stairs himself. A long-forgotten tune. The beginnings of a genuine smile curled the edges of his mouth. _Perhaps I have not entirely lost my inner child after all._  
  
* * *  
  
Harry closed his eyes. He closed his eyes, because he knew what he would see if he opened them. The legs. Legs that nominally belonged to him, yet were no longer under his control. Also, with his eyes closed, people were more likely to believe him asleep. And leave him alone.   
  
For a brief moment, his eyes flicked open. He didn't know why, precisely. After all, he had meant to keep them closed. But once open, they stayed that way, out of surprise and disgust, if nothing else. Come to gloat? He asked quietly, bitterly.   
  
A flash of surprise and . . . something . . . could it really be pain?! . . . crossed the other's face as he shook his head. Why would you think . . . oh, right, we hate each other. Can you remember why? He asked quietly. I can't, anymore. I came because I had to know.   
  
Know what? Why we hate each other?   
  
He shook his head. Know . . . whether or not you were still alive. You didn't look like it, when I saw you down on the field. It was then that I realized . . . I really don't hate you. I haven't for quite a while. The blonde boy's face was open, far more open than Harry had ever seen it before. He came further in and sat on a chair, still staring at Harry's face meditatively.   
  
I almost wasn't. Still alive, that is. Then she came along . . . and healed me . . . Harry trailed off at the naked hope in the other boy's face.   
  
What did she look like? Did you catch her name?   
  
She had short, black hair and deep violet eyes. She seemed to be wearing a white leotard, with bows that were purple and a black skirt. Her name was Saturn.   
  
He deflated. Saturn . . . Uranus . . . perhaps there is a guardian angel from each of the other planets that watches over us.  
  
Did you know Uranus, then? What was she like? Against his will, Harry found himself warming to this young boy, so different from the Draco Malfoy he always believed he knew.   
  
She was blonde, with teal eyes. She always wore a navy blue dress and had the most beautiful goldenrod yellow wings. She . . . I told her things I've never revealed to anyone else, and I sometimes almost think she did the same. There were certainly some times when she seemed . . . surprised, even aghast, at the words that came from her mouth. And then, one day, she disappeared without a word.   
  
And you hoped she had come back to heal me.  
  
Draco nodded, then stood. I suppose I had better leave . . . He grinned quickly. Before I get caught fraternizing with the enemy. I'll be seeing you around, Potter.   
  
At the door, he stopped and turned. Harry smiled, tentatively. Please . . . call me Harry.  
  
Only if you're willing to call me Draco. He smiled again, and Harry got the feeling that he had made, literally, one of the most unlikely of friends. I'll be seeing you around . . . Harry.  
  
* * *  
  
Albus Dumbledore walked down the halls. Although he did not usually leave his office, he wanted to check in on all the children who had been injured in that curious explosion. Someone bumped into him, and looked up. Friendly black eyes under a shock of deep black hair greeted him with a smile. Sorry about that, Albus. Young enough to be either a seventh-year student or an extremely new teacher, he reminded Dumbledore most peculiarly of Severus at that age. But surely this was just coincidence. The young man continued walking in the opposite direction with a firm, lengthy stride. Even had Severus found the Fountain of Youth, so to speak, he would never have smiled that way. So . . . carefree.  
  
* * *  
  
Despite their shared horror and pity for the extent of Harry's injuries, there was really only one major concern aired in the Gryffindor common room that night. Who was to be their new seeker? If they didn't find one, and soon, they would have to forfeit and Slytherin would win by default. Something that no one wanted to see happen.   
  
Quite a few suggestions were made, people of every age, but no one quite cut it, not in the minds of the majority that gathered there. Why don't you volunteer? Minako asked Usagi in an undertone. You're a natural at flying, at least as good as Harry, I know it. Nearby, Fred and George exchanged speculative glances.   
  
And what? I'd probably demolish the stadium accidentally through sheer incompetence. Usagi snorted.   
  
You are not nearly as clumsy as you used to be. Uh . . . will be? Minako looked confused. _Time travel makes my head hurt._ I bet you could do it.   
  
Hermione nodded, speaking up from behind them. I've seen you at lessons, Serenity. You are as good as–or better than–Harry. I believe you could do it.  
  
You fly like you have wings. Ron commented. As if you've flown for most of your life, despite never having touched a broom before this year.   
  
Usagi looked up to see the entire room focused on her, hope in their eyes. Hardly any of the rest knew her, but they might know some of the other first years and trust their judgement. Or, amazingly enough, they might actually trust her. No, this wasn't a matter of life and death, or of the saving of the world. To these people, right now, in a way it was more important than any of that. And they trusted her.   
  
I've never seen you myself, but if they say you're Potter's equal . . . Usagi looked up, so far up, into the eyes of Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch team's captain. Will you become our Seeker?  
  
Usagi gulped. She would not betray their trust in her. She would not fail. If you will have me, I will.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
24. More Secrets Come to Light  
  
He tried,experimentally, to move a leg. "Nothing." The black head did not move, but he knew she had heard him.   
  
Finally, she looked up, violet eyes dim with discouragement. "I don't understand. I know what's wrong, and I know exactly how to fix it. But I can't get close enough to actually *do* anything. It's as if something is blocking me."   
  
She stood slowly, defeat in every line of her posture. "Look, I'll . . . I think I've about had it for today. I'll go, see if I can come up with some sort of amazing inspiration, and even if I don't . . . I'll try again tomorrow. And every tomorrow after that, until I succeed. Okay?"   
  
Harry nodded, then smiled shyly. "See you tomorrow . . . Hotaru." He paused. "And Hotaru . . . even if you can't heal me, you still saved my life. I have faith in your ability to find a way to heal me . . . but if it turns out that that is impossible, I don't want you to go feeling all guilty on me. You've already done so much more for me than anyone else possibly could."  
  
With a flash she transformed back into the shy Ravenclaw he'd never really noticed. She seemed to have a knack for blending in with the background. "I won't have to worry about that," she stated firmly, "because I *will* find a way. Because, Harry, I may have done more for you than anyone else could have, but I have not done nearly as much as I should be capable of."  
  
A sudden thought struck the black-haired boy. Hotaru was Saturn, and he had heard her call her auburn-haired friend Jupiter . . . "Hotaru? Do you know anyone named Uranus?"   
  
He'd expected either assent or denial, not such outright shock and cautious hope. "Do . . . do you know where she is?" She swallowed. "Everyone else has forgotten, and I'm so worried that something desperately wrong had happened." Surely, if they were only trapped at the Gates of Time, they would have found Pluto by now.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I know nothing but the name. I just asked, because . . . well, someone else was really depressed about her leaving, and I thought if you knew anything, I could tell him . . ."  
  
"Who?" The one word held incredible intensity. Harry wavered. It had been a private conversation between himself and Draco, and he didn't feel quite right revealing the other boy's secret. Yet . . . Hotaru looked so worried . . .  
  
She knelt back down by the side of his bed, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Please, Harry, I need to know. I promise, I won't tell anyone else without asking his permission first. But if I can find out who remembers Uranus, and who has forgotten her, that may give me a clue . . ." She gulped, and unshed tears gleamed in the back of her eyes. "A clue as to how to bring them back . . ." She whispered.  
  
It was that final whispered statement that finally decided Harry. He knew how much Draco missed Uranus, and he felt that Draco would agree to almost anything to find out if she was all right. "I don't think I need to remind you not to tell anyone." He smiled wryly. "It was Draco."   
  
"Draco Malfoy?" Shock widened Hotaru's violet eyes, and they began to recover some of their previous sparkle. A short moment, then the sparkle in her eyes translated itself into sound as she began to snicker. "I can't believe it! Draco, of all people." She grinned outright--an inside joke of some sort, Harry assumed, that probably had something to do with this mysterious Uranus' identity. "How . . . fitting, in a twisted sort of way. Well, if Uranus liked him, he can't be nearly as bad as rumor has painted him."   
  
"I think he was, at the beginning." Harry began slowly, remembering his own early encounters with the blonde boy. "But, at some point along the way, he changed. And I would bet a great deal that that change came about as a result of his relationship with Uranus."   
  
"I would not be surprised. She has that effect on people sometimes. I think we all do, to some extent." She stood back up, and ran her fingers through her hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really will leave this time. But don't worry, I'll be back. Tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow." Harry affirmed. He smiled at her back, remembering her last comment. Quietly, he added, "Well, one thing's for sure . . . you have greatly changed *my* life."  
  
* * *  
  
"Draco! A voice pulled the blonde boy out of his random musing as he wandered the halls. He looked up with a blink to see a black-haired girl run up to him. He wondered why she called him that, instead of the greatly more popular 'Malfoy'. How he had come to detest his surname. "Finally, I found you." She stated with satisfaction. "Now, come on." She grabbed his hand and began dragging him towards one of the flights of stairs that led eventually to the roof.   
  
"Um . . . do I know you?" He asked, voice full of uncertainty. She looked vaguely familiar . . . he thought she was a Ravenclaw. Finally he realized from where she looked familiar--she had been one of Haruka's friends.   
  
Still, none of that explained why she had come after him specifically. "No. Not yet." She replied. "But you will soon enough." Soon enough proved to be when they got up to the roof. She looked around carefully--searching for eavesdroppers? "My name is Hotaru Tomoe, but I'm also known as Saturn at times." She dropped the information almost casually, leaving him to pick up the pieces and make the connections on his own.   
  
A spark of hope lit in his eyes almost immediately. "Then . . . do you know what happened to Uranus? Why she disappeared? Is she going to be back anytime soon? . . . I'd feel awful if she left because of me."   
  
"No, I doubt her departure had anything to do with you." Hotaru reassured him, and she sighed. "As for the rest . . . she is trapped somewhere, and there is someone she needs to find in order to be able to leave. Unfortunately, that person probably does not want to be found . . . and I'm afraid that something else has gone dreadfully wrong in addition." She hesitated. "I contacted you mostly on the off chance that you would have somehow gained some information that was not passed on to the rest of us."  
  
"Rest of . . . there's one of you for each planet, isn't there." Draco conjectured. "Who are you? I mean . . . well, you know what I mean. I never thought to ask Uranus . . . and I would have felt kind of uncomfortable doing so."   
  
Hotaru sat down, and motioned him to take a seat as well. "This might take a while, since I think you ought to know the full story. It is a story that began a long time ago, in a kingdom known as the Silver Millennium . . ."   
  
* * *  
  
". . . and then we were reborn into this time." Out of pity, Hotaru decided to exclude the most recent of their exploits--mostly, she admitted to herself, because she didn't want to be the one to tell him of Uranus and Neptune's defection, no matter how good their intentions had been. Haruka deserved to have the chance to tell him that, herself.   
  
From the slightly doubtful look he gave her, Hotaru got the feeling that he knew she had not told the whole story. Thankfully, he refrained from pressing her. Then again, that might have been merely because of the third voice that broke in on the conversation. "Hotaru Tomoe and Draco Malfoy, I presume?" Both turned to the young, black-haired figure who had appeared at the top of the steps, anxious about how much of the story he might have heard. The stranger smiled. "Allow me to introduce myself. You may not believe me, but I am Severus Snape." Again, the two shared a glance, this one considering and full of scarcely concealed hope. Snape smiled, having a good guess as to what the two were thinking.   
  
He nodded slightly, a large smile forming on his face. ". . . And I bring messages from Uranus and Pluto."   
  
* * *  
  
The area was fairly light, but the light was all ambient. Scattered around the room were various screens, each focused on a different person or set of events. One held a picture of a small blonde girl on a broomstick, flying around with her long hair trailing behind. Another, a group of three, two children and one apparently in his late teens. A view of the stands, where the friends of the blonde girl sat and watched.   
  
In the center of the room, a man stood. Brushing a wisp of fine mahogany hair behind an ear, he turned his head. "Well?"   
  
Just in time to here his question, a girl appeared. She nodded. "I think you're right. He will be best." She indicated yet another screen, one that held a picture of three young girls walking through mist. "Why haven't you dealt with them yet? You know that they will only be able to return through the Gate."   
  
He nodded. "But they can't return through the Gate until it's rebuilt, and that won't happen until a new Guardian is chosen. This keeps them occupied until then. The others should be in on the choice, too, you know. It's only fair, when making a decision that can affect all of us."   
  
She sighed. "True, I suppose. Still, I think they'll agree."   
  
"They may think you're trying to regain the Guardianship, though. It sure would seem that way to one who hasn't been working with you as closely as I."   
  
"I trust Saturn." Uranus smiled, appearing just in time to add in her own two cents. She shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Of course, I'm also rather biased in the boy's favor. So I suppose I 'm not exactly the best judge. Still, he has a way of winning over even the staunchest of foes once he can be induced to show his true self. He'll do fine."   
  
Pluto looked up. "You know him best of us all, I think. Do you think he's fit for the job?"   
  
The navy-blue-haired girl rubbed the back of her neck consideringly. "I get the feeling that he still has some issues that he needs to work out before he can accept the job . . . but yes, once he gets those issues worked out, I think he'll do fine. I'm guessing the Guardian really does have to be someone who is indigenous to our reality?"   
  
Pluto nodded again, this time sadly. "When the new Setsuna appeared, I had my hopes . . . but the Gates were not willing to accept her in the end. I'm just glad that she was willing to give up the power of Guardian without being pushed--or worse, forced--into the decision. I'm not sure that our Setsuna would have been so willing."   
  
"They are very . . . different." Uranus agreed with a thoughtful expression on her face. "They act like they . . . well, like they've experienced so much *more* than our senshi had."   
  
"They have." A quiet, sad voice replied.   
  
"Still no luck, Neptune?" Uranus asked sympathetically.   
  
The other girl shook her head, long straight cerulean hair flying in a halo around her face. "No luck. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but I just can't reach her." She ended the explanation on a muted wail, as the rest looked on sympathetically.  
  
Uranus reached out and took the quietly sobbing girl into her arms, slowly smoothing her hair. "Ssh . . . it will be all right. Everything will turn out all right in the end, you'll see." She looked up, at Pluto. "When I gave Haruka the Eternal power . . . I told her that she had to grow up first. It was the only thing I could think of, really--a story, to give her a plausible reason why she had not been given the power before, since I don't know why they didn't receive it back in their home reality. But what if it was the truth? That they really *do* have to grow closer to their Silver Millennium selves before we're able to reach them."   
  
Neptune sniffed and pulled herself out of the other's embrace, wiping her eyes. "It's true, Michiru has hardly changed at all from the self she was in her other life--her other modern-day life, that is. She's so . . . distant, I guess, not at all like I remember her being. But you were right, Uranus . . . they have experienced far more than our girls ever had to go through."   
  
"Like?" Saturn asked curiously.   
  
Neptune, looking into the earnest face of her sister planet, winced. It would have to be one of those two that asked the question. Still, if she had not yet found out, she had a right to know. "Haruka and Michiru . . . they killed Setsuna and Hotaru. They had good reasons for doing so, or so they thought at the time . . . but their betrayal of their teammates and of their princess still weighs very heavily on Michiru."  
  
"Haruka feels it too . . . but she's always been quicker to trust and more outgoing than Michiru. Added to it, the fact that she has bonded to one of the people they killed-and *knows* that she has been forgiven, by them at least . . . the feeling is muted." Uranus reported, an introspective look on her face. "I had not realized, though, that that residual sorrow and guilt resulted from something so . . . so drastic."   
  
Neptune nodded. "Michiru has, I think, lost all concept of self-worth. Especially with Haruka not there. Even if she doesn't remember Haruka's existence, she still feels abandoned--and Hotaru, the only one remaining of the senshi that is willing to call her friend, avoids her unconsciously. I think, because she knows how much they meant to each other." She looked up, over to Saturn for confirmation.   
  
Saturn nodded. "I think that about describes it." She sighed. "Although I'm afraid I haven't been paying as much attention to Hotaru as I ought to have. I'm watching over his dreams practically nightly, now, protecting him. I'm afraid if I don't, some night he'll actually believe his dreams and die in his sleep."  
  
"When will Haruka and Setsuna be able to return?" Uranus fretted. "This separation and memory loss is wreaking havoc with everything. Couldn't you have at least excluded the senshi from the effects of the memory loss?" She asked Pluto.   
  
He rubbed his eyes. "It's not as easy as you make it sound, Uranus. It's all I can do just to protect those that have gone Eternal already, and that's drawing from their extra stores of power. Setsuna's no longer the Guardian of the Gates, so I no longer have control over them."  
  
He laughed. "You could probably deal with them as easily as I. Remember, he may have a nominal connection to Saturn, but I very much doubt that he is going to be either Saturn or Pluto Knight. Whichever planetary allegiance he chooses, that one of us will gain greater control over the Gates than any of us have now . . . but even then, a Knight is not an Avatar. None of us will ever again have, I think, the long-standing dominion over the Gates that both Saturn and I have experienced in our time."  
  
Saturn tapped yet another screen, holding a small black-haired boy laying on a hospital bed. "To shift the subject somewhat, if you don't mind . . . does anyone have an explanation for why Hotaru can't heal that boy?"   
  
"Outside interference of some kind." Neptune suggested. "Some sort of protective shield, maybe?"   
  
Saturn snapped her fingers. "The scar! I remember the resistance seemed particularly strong around the region of his forehead, but did not really take note, since she was concentrating on the problem area."  
  
Pluto frowned. "Hotaru may not be the healer that my avatars once were, before we assumed the role of Guardian of the Gates, but she is still quite strong. Anything powerful enough to block her healing influence so subtly . . . it would almost cross over into the realm of divine intervention."  
  
"Not quite divine." A new voice laughed, as Jupiter stepped into visibility. "I would have thought that the lightning bolt shape of the scar was a dead giveaway, though."   
  
"Jupiter? You . . ."   
  
"I just happened to be nearby when I felt an incredible buildup of malevolent power. I was too late to save the parents, but I came just in time to cast my protection over the child. Unfortunately, the protection wasn't complete--the remainder of that spell still retained the power to carve the scar into his forehead. You mean it--the protection--is still there?" The other four nodded, and she shook her head. "I can't believe it!"  
  
She turned her gaze to the boy in question, and the others could sense the probe that she sent towards him. The room remained silent and unmoving until Jupiter shook her head. -"That may have originally been my spell, but it's mutated beyond all recognition by now." She made a disgusted sound in her throat. "If I had known he was a *wizard* . . . I should have realized and adjusted the spell to compensate for the differences." The others smiled sympathetically, remembering their own encounters with the slightly . . . different . . . subspecies of humanity.  
  
Forest green-painted fingernails rapped on a nearby console. "That reminds me. I know for a fact that Makoto was absolutely one hundred percent Muggle before this switch occurred. The only thing at all magical about her was her status as my avatar."   
  
"All our avatars, I think, held between little and absolutely no magical talent previous to this." Uranus concurred. "I know Haruka was about as unmagical as a brick, despite having a wizard for a father."  
  
Neptune wrinkled her nose doubtfully. "Michiru might have had a little--not surprising, with both of her parents being rather strong as wizards go--and I think Rei did too. But I do agree, for supposedly 'magical' warriors they were about the most disgustingly normal group of people I've ever seen."   
  
"And now . . . all of them are so filled with magical potential it's almost scary. The only conclusion I've been able to reach is that, sometime in our future, the senshi will *need* that extra margin of power. Because our senshi would have proved inadequate for the job, these new essences have been yanked from their own home universe and placed into our own." Uranus concluded the process of thought that all five of them had worked through on their own before. The group looked at each other for a time in subdued silence.  
  
"But who is this new enemy--or the being that wrought all these changes, for that matter--and when will they show up?" Saturn asked.   
  
"As for that . . ." Pluto answered with the barest shadow of a smirk, ". . . only Time will tell."  
  
* * *  
  
Once Professor Snape gave him the letter from Uranus, Draco had politely made his excuses and left. He had a feeling that Snape wanted the time alone with one of the "senshi", and his presence there would have been seen as an intrusion. They might have been too polite to say so, but he thought both had been somewhat relieved when he left. So he found himself, for once, on ground level, as he crouched in the shade underneath one of the stands, filled with people out here to see the continuation of the Quidditch game.   
  
The front of the envelope held his name in a somewhat elegant, somewhat blocky script that he could not help but think that he had seen somewhere before. Carefully opening the envelope, his hands shaking with a mixture of eagerness and apprehension, he drew out the single sheet of paper, as much writing as possible crammed in on both sides.   
  
_  
Dear Draco,_ it read,  
  
_If you are reading this now, I suppose, against all odds, you remember my existence. And if you do--well, even if you don't, and I will have to tell you, face to face--you deserve to know my identity. I never would have imagined, back at the beginning of the year, that *you* would be the first for me to reveal my tightly guarded secret to. I disliked you a great deal back then, you know. Now . . . I find I miss you almost as much as I miss Michiru._   
  
  
His brain froze and he stopped reading as that last statement wormed its way into his brain. Could it be . . .?   
  
No. Of course not.  
  
  
_My name is Sailor Uranus, avatar of the planet Uranus and princess of that planet as well-though the last is a rather empty title, with Uranus no longer fit for human occupation. More to the point, my name in this life is Haruka Ten'ou . . . your nemesis, unless I have misread you. I hope you don't hate me, for keeping myself a secret . . . but how would I have explained why I had suddenly become more charitable toward you?  
  
I have lived eighteen years, instead of the mere eleven I seem to have lived, and in that time I am afraid I never quite learned the knack of trusting others. My princess I trust, and Michiru, and my teammates . . . but the way I grew up does not lead me to so easily place my trust in others. Yet, I have learned to trust you and that is why I felt as if I would have wronged you by withholding the truth any longer.  
  
So now you know. I'm afraid my life story will have to wait, as I am somewhat pressed for time--and that is a story better told face-to-face. If, that is, you are still willing to call me friend when I return. Even if you want nothing more to do with me, though, if you ever need a refuge, do not hesitate to call upon me. I have found out that my father in this life is not who I grew up believing he was . . . and this father, the one I look upon now as my *real* father, can be trusted. So keep that in mind, if you run into trouble with your own.  
  
Soon, I hope, we will be able to return from this place. Until then, the best of wishes to you.   
  
Your friend (I hope),   
Haruka Ten'ou  
Sailor Uranus_  
  
  
He scrubbed at mysteriously wet eyes. Though initially shock and horror had overruled all other emotions, reading on he could see Haruka's loneliness, and he already knew of the kindred loneliness he had found within the heart of Uranus . . . his angel. It was strange, that a girl so well loved, with so many beloved friends, could be as lonely as he himself . . . but reading the letter and the tone in which it was written, he could not doubt it. "You will always be my angel." He whispered.   
  
As both his angel and as Haruka, she had kept him balanced, anchored to reality. His angel had taught him the values that helped him to develop into, he thought, a better person, while Haruka's antagonism had helped him to maintain the mask of normality.   
  
Carefully folding the letter and placing it back in the envelope, he leaned back against the hard wooden stands with a sigh. His hand, though, came down on something that fluttered. Picking it up, he looked down to find the Golden Snitch, one of its wings stuck in a particularly tough clump of grass. He freed it, holding in his hand and savoring the sensation for the moment.   
  
Then, with a smile, he walked out into the sun, held up his hand, and let it fly free. And he couldn't help but think that his soul was doing quite the same.  
  
* * *  
  
She floated in the sky, high above the rest of the players and for the most part undisturbed, as she watched over the entire playing field for that elusive hint of gold. Part of her attention was devoted to that pursuit, part of it to the other high-flyer, in his robe of brilliant green.   
  
Her eyes caught the hint of a black shadow detaching itself from behind the stadium. For a moment, her heart caught, as she imagined the black robe to be an enemy . . . one she was no longer properly equipped to fight.   
  
She remembered . . . had it only been yesterday?   
  
That horrible explosion, as Harry went flying, broken and almost certainly dead. She had been near the bottom of the stands, and had quickly hopped off. She knew that Minako would cover for her absence, knowing that she would have left in order to transform-to see if she could heal Harry, and the others with their lesser injuries, using the power of the ginzuishou. A healing power only surpassed by that of Sailor Saturn. And then, the moment of truth.  
  
She could no longer transform.  
  
In the beginning, she had wished to become just a normal girl, with a normal life, normal friends and perhaps even a normal boyfriend. She had not wanted to be a super-heroine, at least not once she realized what the reality entailed. When had that changed?   
  
Perhaps it had been a gradual change, but whenever that change had occurred, she found herself lost without the ability to transform. She had come to define herself in terms of Sailor Moon, of Princess Serenity and the Neo-Queen Serenity she would someday become. Relegated back to nothing more than plain Usagi, she had no meaning, no purpose . . . no real reason to go on, except for the faint hope that this was a fluke or an enemy attack; anything that would guarantee that the power-and, more importantly, that part of her *self*-had not disappeared for good.   
  
Her eyes remained trained on the shadow as it lifted its head, revealing short blonde hair, and lifted its hand. From the hand flew a small golden ball, and her eyes lit up. Looking around, she saw that the Slytherin Seeker had not yet seen. She angled her broom downwards and shot off on a straight line towards the errant Snitch.   
  
He had seen too, or at least noted her sudden action, or heard the announcer's commentary, and he came flashing down in rapid pursuit. Suddenly, though, she found she no longer cared. This was no longer about Gryffindor or about Slytherin, about the game at all, really.   
  
The scoreboard flashed past, out of the corner of her eyes. 370 to an even 300, in Slytherin's favor for the moment. As she flashed past, the right hand score changed, now 310. Gryffindor had scored another goal.  
  
She would catch the Snitch, not to win the game for Gryffindor out of some sense of House pride, but because . . .   
  
Because she had people counting on her. The world might not be at stake . . . but to some people, this game meant the world.  
  
Because Harry would have been able to win the game. And, if only she had been able to transform . . . he could have.   
  
But perhaps most of all . . . because she had to prove, to her class, to the other senshi, and most of all to herself . . . that Usagi was worth something too, even when she was no longer Sailor Moon.   
  
In a last burst of speed, brought on by her combination of desperation and reckless determination, she reached out and caught the Golden Snitch. For her, time seemed to slow as she held it up in the air for the entire audience to see, sunlight glinting off its golden body and silvery-white wings.   
  
"And with a daring dive, Gryffindor Seeker Tsukino catches the Golden Snitch. Victory goes to Gryffindor!"   
  
The crowd erupted.  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
25. Fun and Games  
  
She was out on the balcony again, staring into the deep blue of the sky, darkening as it approached twilight, as she pondered . . . well, nothing, really. It seemed as if her life had spiraled out of control, since that fateful night.   
  
The night she had taken fate into her own hands. The night Hotaru had died by her hands. She had not expected Galaxia's influence on her mind to be so strong, that it would take so long to overcome. And now . . . Hotaru said she forgave her. But if Hotaru had truly forgiven her, why did it seem like the other girl avoided her when possible? Yet it seemed, when she caught the other girl looking at her, that Hotaru's eyes were full of pity, not disgust or horror or anger.   
  
Why pity? That, Michiru had not yet figured out.   
  
"So this is where you disappear off to. Shouldn't you be back in your House by now?"  
  
She turned from watching the sky, as two rather more interesting objects came into view. "Shouldn't you?"   
  
The one on the left shrugged and laughed. "We're used to sneaking in and out after curfew. It doesn't really matter when we get back."   
  
"I don't know . . . I should think the party would be missing its prize Beaters." She had recognized them now. "You *are* Fred and George Weasley, right?"   
  
"The pranksters that you managed to outsing the first day of school. First time it's happened to us, and this is our third year." The one on the right affirmed. "I'm Fred, in case you were wondering."   
  
"You were looking for me?" Why else would they have made such a comment when they first appeared?  
  
"We were rather curious . . . as to the sort of person that would make a point of outsinging us. This is your first year here, right? That means that you'll be doing that play in History of Magic."   
  
"Now, why did we never think of doing that?" Fred moaned. "Doing something music-related would have made History *so* much more bearable."   
  
"Which musical is your class doing?" George asked idly.   
  
"Phantom of the Opera." Yes, these two were Gryffindor, and either two years older or about four years younger than her, but Michiru also found them surprisingly easy to talk to. "By Andrew Lloyd Webber."   
  
"What part are you planning on trying out for? Or have you decided yet?"   
  
George snorted. "Watch Ron decide to try out for stagehand or something. Honestly, how someone so camera-shy could be related to *us* . . ."  
  
"I thought I'd try for the lead female role, Christine." Michiru admitted shyly. "I figured I'd have a better chance, since I do have some previous stage experience--though admittedly not in acting."   
  
Fred circled her. "Well, you're certainly pretty enough to pull it off." He grinned, and Michiru blushed lightly at the compliment. "What part do you sing?"   
  
"Lower contralto, mostly. I've got a pretty large range, but it doesn't go all that high."   
  
Both twins started shaking their heads. "Not going to work, then. Christine had *got* to be soprano. She usually sings fairly low, true, but there are parts in which she hits *really* high notes. You might have a chance, but only if there's no one with a range that goes higher than yours"  
  
Michiru's face fell. "I know for a fact that Chibiusa--Usagi, that is--can sing higher than me. So what do you suggest I do?"   
  
"Well, you're all young enough that none of your voices should have changed yet, so there's probably not that much difference between the ranges of the guys and the girls. So why don't you try for one of the main male roles--either Raoul or the Phantom?" Fred suggested.   
  
"Yeah!" George enthused. "Go for the Phantom. You've already got the air of mystery, now all you need is a cape and face mask."   
  
Fred slapped the back of his brother's head. "Silly. The Phantom is the antagonist. She ought to play Raoul, since he's the good guy--he gets the girl, after all, doesn't he?" He turned to Michiru. "Don't you know the story? That should help you decide."   
  
Michiru shook her head. George grabbed her hand. "Then you need to come with us to the library at once! This lamentable ignorance of yours must be enlightened immediately."  
  
And as she allowed herself to be dragged along, Michiru began, for the first time in what seemed like years, to smile.   
  
* * *  
  
The library, she had to admit, was most definitely one of her favorite places to go. Even if it was a library primarily of magic, and a school library at that, it shared certain characteristics with all libraries. The people, quietly studying, and all the numerous shelves of books. Pausing near an empty table, she prepared to put her bookbag down, before an unexpected sight caused her to move on.   
  
"Serenity!" She smiled. "What brings you here?"   
  
The blonde looked up with wide eyes, slamming shut the book she had been studying so intently only moments before. "Nothing!" She laughed nervously. "You know me."   
  
With a resigned grin, Ami sat down. "Come on, tell me. I promise I won't laugh."   
  
Wide blue eyes glared assessingly at her. "Okay.' She acceded grudgingly. "But I have your promise. No laughter." She moved her hand slightly, uncovering the title of the book. It was one unfamiliar to the blue-haired girl, an in-depth speculative text on terraforming.   
  
Serenity closed her eyes briefly. "I want to make the planets habitable again. All of them, but especially the Moon." She frowned slightly. "And I don't want it to be wholly dependent on the power of the ginzuishou. I want the planets to be habitable even if Earth is razed to the ground, all its inhabitants killed, and the ginzuishou shattered." She ended fiercely. _I don't want the planets to suddenly die if ever the current holder of the ginzuishou, like me, can no longer access that power, for whatever reason. They should be alive in their own rights._  
  
"I wouldn't laugh at a goal like that." Ami frowned, then cracked a grin. "Especially if it can finally convince you to study." Her grin became a sincere smile, and she reached out a hand to cover one of Serenity's. "Seriously, though, I think it's a wonderful idea. And if there's anything at all I can do to help, don't hesitate to ask me."   
  
Serenity shoved the book to the side, for the moment. "I'm afraid that even with a subject so important to me, I still can't help going to sleep in parts. I just don't know how to study, and I'm afraid that that's affecting my ability to take in and process this information. I'm really afraid that I'll miss something really important."   
  
She took in a deep breath. "So . . . would you teach me how to study? For real this time?"   
  
Ami nodded. "I'd be happy to. In return . . . could you teach me how to have fun in activities other than studying?" Seeing Hermione had really caused Ami to reexamine herself. Since she had been very small, she had known she wanted to become a doctor . . . and she had known the sort of dedication that would require. So she had thrown herself fully into studying, and then a point had come when that had become all she knew.   
  
Meeting Usagi and the others had brought her to begin to see that perhaps there was something to life other than studying. Still, she had no idea as to how to go about learning something other than school. In that, she had stunted herself by so forcibly narrowing her interests. Hermione had been the final step--the girl's friendlessness had evoked memories of a depressingly similar younger Ami. And this time around, Ami was determined that she would not be as lonely as she had been the first time.   
  
Somehow, she would retain her single-mindedness towards studying, yet at the same time branch out, and learn to have a life. Serenity was the happiest, most fun-filled person she knew--or at least she had been. There was no one better qualified to teach her this subject . . . especially since by teaching Ami to have fun, Serenity might relax a bit, relinquish for a few moments in time her newfound maturity.   
  
Although she loved just as dearly this newly mature Serenity, Ami found she sometimes missed Usagi. And if she could help Serenity to rediscover the parts of her that were still Usagi, she felt that she would be doing everyone a good service. Not the least of them, Serenity herself.   
  
* * *  
  
"I had a chat with my guardian planet last night, a very interesting one too." Hotaru stated. "Now I know why I can't heal you-or at least I have my best guess so far."   
  
Both boys--Harry in the infirmary bed and Draco in a chair across the bed from her--looked at her with curious eyes. Finally, tapping his fingers impatiently against the arm of his chair, Draco burst out, "Well? I assume you're not just going to leave us hanging."   
  
Hotaru leaned over and tapped Harry on the forehead, right in the middle of his scar. "*That* is the problem."   
  
Harry frowned. "My scar? But why?" It was the only visible mark that he alone had managed to survive Voldemort's evil spell, but he could think of nothing particularly important about it other than that.   
  
"You would have died too, that day, had Jupiter not happened by just as Voldemort was about to kill you. She protected you, and that protection has been warped by age and circumstances beyond anyone's control."   
  
Hotaru smiled sadly. "That night . . . your parents' last thoughts were of you. Their wishes alone might have served to provide you with a sort of protection. All Jupiter did, really, was strengthen that wish, and make it into reality. Even so, his spell still retained enough power to carve that scar into your forehead. But no more."   
  
She sighed, placing her chin in cupped hands. "My guess is that because I did not fully heal you the first time, your protection had identified me as an enemy, but your lack of hostility toward me confused it. So it has adopted a neutral path, as it were--it won't work to actively hurt me, but neither will it let me do anything further to you."   
  
"Is there any way to get around it?" He didn't want to spent the rest of his life as a cripple. Especially since healing seemed so near at hand. He might have been able to stand it, had healing been clearly and totally impossible, but not this.   
  
Hotaru pursed her lips, before letting loose a regretful sigh. "For me . . . I sincerely doubt it. But Sailor Moon might be able to help you--I'm pretty sure she can use the ginzuishou to heal physical injuries, as well as banishing evil influence. Or . . ." She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to recall a conversation from long past. ". . . didn't? . . . I think I remember Saturn saying something about how, before they became Guardians of Time, the senshi of Pluto were phenomenal healers, better even than we of Saturn." Her face brightened. "Once she returns, I bet she would be able to heal you."   
  
* * *  
  
"Psst. Hey, Michiru!" In the dark room, her eyes popped open.   
  
"Fred! George!" She carefully slid out of bed. "What are you doing here? Do you have a death wish? This is Slytherin, the girl's side even! If anyone caught you, you'd be crucified!" She whispered.   
  
One of them--it was too dark to tell which, even if she had been capable of telling them apart easily in the first place--grinned, the moonlight glinting off white teeth. "That just makes it more of a challenge. Anyway, Fred and I decided we'd go try to sneak a midnight snack. And seeing as you're the Phantom, we figured you ought to have some practice moving around silently in the night. Get into the part, as it were."   
  
"Besides, you seem like a good sport. So, whaddaya say? Wanna come with?" The other--Fred, she surmised--summed up.   
  
She blushed lightly at the offhand compliment, glad that the darkness hid her face. The twins seemed to have that effect on her, making her feel positively juvenile again. A long-buried sense of mischief stirred, and told the more logical portions of her mind to go take a hike. She grinned. "Sure, sounds fun."   
  
"All right!" The twins high fived each other. "Now let's go. We've got a date with some food!"   
  
* * *  
  
She landed on her rear. Again. "Tell me again why this is fun?"   
  
Serenity laughed at her. "Oh, come on. It really is fun, once you get the hang of it." She skated backwards in a circle around the poor senshi of Mercury. "Besides, it does wonders for your coordination."  
  
Ami got wearily back up on her feet. _I am the senshi of ice, for goodness sake!_ She reminded herself with exasperation. _This really shouldn't be that hard!_ She tentatively began again, concentrating on the placement of her feet, arms spread out wide in an effort to steady herself, as she began slowly to skate across the pond.   
  
"See? Not that hard now, is it?" Serenity popped up beside her.   
  
"Wah!" The startlement caused her to lose her precarious balance. All she could do, really, was adjust slightly the course she would take in that fall.   
  
"Amiii!" Serenity squealed, as she too went crashing to the cold ice. "That was uncalled for."   
  
Ami slowly began to grin as she slowly got to her feet and held out a hand to help Serenity up. Of course, the pulling caused her to overbalance, and they both went crashing to the ice again. She just knew that she would get way too many bruises out of this . . .  
  
A giggle burst from her throat, as the two of them finally regained their feet. "Oh, I don't know, Sere-chan. I think you deserved it. Besides . . ." She giggled again, as she pushed the other girl gently, then skated away as fast as she could. Which ended, of course, with her toppled over with her head trying to make yet another imprint in the ice. She rose, brushing quickly melting shards off her face and noting with satisfaction that her friend had also hit the ice. Literally. ". . . now I see what you mean about ice skating being fun."   
  
Without a word, Serenity got up and skated over to the edge of the pool. Ami too struggled to her feet, suddenly unsure. The blonde bent down, her back to Ami. Suddenly, she stood back up and turned around. A wide grin spread across her face. "Now, it's war."   
  
The first snowball struck Ami in the face; the second she only narrowly avoided and was the cause of yet another fall. Faster than she had ever skated in either life, she skidded toward the bank and soon had a couple snowballs of her own. Turning, yet another hit her in the face, but in compensation her first was also a bullseye, hitting her friend in the face as well. Both took a break to manufacture a large number of snowballs and place them in subspace pockets before skating back out onto the ice.   
  
The sides were chosen. The lines drawn.   
  
Let the battle begin!  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
26. Entrance of New Players  
  
She had come back here, only to find the place entirely deserted. Well, not entirely, of course. The people still filled the streets, caught up in their daily lives, few if any pondering anything much beyond the present moment. But they had gone. She had gone, and all the senshi who followed her. Even the two she no longer acknowledged. Gone, and not a trace remained that they had ever existed. This small corner of the galaxy, formerly so bright with hopes and dreams, was no longer worthy of any more thought than any other area-and in fact, somewhat less, with no more senshi of its own.  
  
So now she stood in front of the great metal gates shrouded by mist on every side, a small garnet-tipped key in her hand. Chaos had stolen it from Pluto's rapidly disintegrating body; no one had been around in a condition to notice or care and he had thought it would be useful. With it, he could have conquered countless dimensions, many of which not at all prepared for the advent of something with his strength and malevolence. Now more than ever was she eternally grateful that she had been stopped in her quest in his name, in this small insignificant corner of the galaxy.   
  
Here, if anywhere, she would have thought the senshi would have remained. Pluto would never have abandoned her post so permanently unless the need had been dire . . . or unless she had been forced to it. And she knew she would have known if a dark power that dire had sprung up so quickly. Much as individual senshi could sometimes sense dark powers focused on them, she could feel the concentrated darkness anywhere in the galaxy, if not pinpoint it quite as exactly. A power dark enough to finally be the one to overcome Eternal Sailor Moon . . . that, she most definitely would have felt.   
  
"Key of Time . . ." She paused, not knowing the correct words. "Open for me the Gate of Time." She drew in a shaky breath, feeling the building power behind her words. "Chronos! In thy name, I ask . . . allow me to cross the dimensional barrier to where she has gone, that I may aid her, now that this galaxy no longer requires my protection for a time."   
  
"I, Sailor Galaxia, Sailor guardian of the galaxy, ask you this. Send to me the path of light!"   
  
For a moment, nothing, and her heart fell. Then, slowly, the gate began to open. Heedless of whatever may have been on the other side, she threw herself through as soon as it had opened wide enough to support her entrance. Left in solitude once more, the Gate slammed shut. And so it would remain, until the day came when its master returned.   
  
* * *  
  
"What do I want to do when I grow up?" Michiru leaned back in the plush chair as she considered. On accident during one of their exploratory outings, the three of them had stumbled upon this empty classroom-one of the few, she suspected, that had comfortable chairs. Now that weather made it seem rather foolish to stay out on the roof for an extended length of time, they had drifted here instead.   
  
"I'd kind of like to raise a family.' She remembered the idyllic time when Hotaru was growing up with great fondness. -As to my job, I'll probably stay a violinist-I can earn a pretty decent living on that, enough to support myself. And I really do enjoy music, so that part won't be much of a hassle." She smiled. "I'll let you in on a secret, though. One I haven't even told-" she frowned. Who would she tell? Why was she so sure that there had been some name she had been about to say? Subconsciously, she twisted the ring, her uncertainty translating itself into nervous motion. "-anyone." She substituted in. "I'd really like to become an engineer. A mechanical engineer, and one that works directly with things to try and improve them."   
  
"So why don't you?" Fred shrugged. "If that's what you really want to do."   
  
"It's not very ladylike." Michiru reminded them sharply. "My parents . . . my friends . . . none of them would understand." She sighed. "If I even had friends."   
  
The twins exchanged glances. "Are you trying to say you don't want us as your friends?" George asked.   
  
"Because we certainly don't see anything wrong with it." Fred assented. "I'll exchange your secret for one of our own. You know we said we wanted to set up a joke shop?" Michiru nodded.   
  
"That's just because it's something we enjoy doing, that is likely to make us enough money to live on. What we'd really like to do is start a rock band." George admitted, his face as red as his hair.   
  
Fred smiled dreamily. "We could tour the world, traveling to all sorts of neat places." He sighed. "But we've faced the fact that we would never be able to make enough money to support ourselves."   
  
"Tell you what. If you ever need a female lead singer, call me up. If I don't work, I know a couple of other people who would love a chance to get out on stage." Michiru smiled, thinking of Minako . . . and Rei, to a certain extent. She leaned forward. "Would you compose your own songs?"   
  
The two boys nodded. "Well then. Why don't you record a couple of them, and send them out to some different companies, and see what happens. You probably wouldn't want to start touring until you got out of school, but there's nothing to keep you from releasing your first music before then."   
  
"You make it seem so possible."   
  
Michiru smirked. "I ought to. After all, I managed it, with classical music no less. Not enough to live on, perhaps, but not an amount to sniff at, either."   
  
"You're famous already?!" Both boys' eyes widened. "Wow."   
  
Michiru laughed nervously. "Actually . . . I'm not sure. You see, I remember being famous, but some of my memories don't exactly correspond with commonly established reality. But my point is, it can be done. And you should, if it's that important to you."   
  
"We know it can be done. But you need patronage, support. Take the Three Lights--they're only your age, I think, but already they're famous."  
  
"The Three Lights?!" This was just a dream, Michiru decided. A very bad dream.   
  
"You mean you haven't heard of them?" Out of no where, Fred pulled out and unwrapped a poster, showing three young figures. "The black-haired one, she's Seiya--"  
  
"The brown-haired one is Taiki and the silver-haired one is Yaten. Their surname is Kou." Michiru added in a somewhat offhand tone. "How long have they been around?"   
  
The twins exchanged shrugs. "I dunno." George admitted. "A month or so, maybe."   
  
"Great." Michiru mumbled, putting her head in her hands. "Next thing you know, they'll be coming here for school."   
  
"What gave you that idea?" George blinked. "They're Muggles, after all."   
  
Michiru laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't bet on it."  
  
* * *  
  
"Rei?"   
  
The black-haired girl looked up. "Oh, hi Mamoru. Can I help you with something?" She flipped a page in her Transfiguration textbook.   
  
"If you're busy, I'll find someone else." He said. "I was just wondering if you wanted to go ice skating with me."   
  
Her head shot up, all pretense of concentrating on her homework gone. In a deceptively mild tone, she asked, "Isn't that something you should be asking of Usa--Serenity?" She cursed herself inwardly for the slip. It was just so hard to remember the changed name.   
  
He shrugged, bewildered. "I did. We actually set this up ahead of time. She said that she might join me later but, and this is a direct quote, 'I'm too busy studying right now. Why don't you ask Rei-chan instead?' " Seeing Rei's leery glance, he threw up his hands. "Truly! She and Ami were in the library, and it looked like they were both actually working."   
  
Rei stood and ruffled his hair. "Don't worry. I believe you-if you had wanted to lie, you wouldn't have made up a story nearly as crazy." She packed up her books. "I was just about to go stir crazy myself, so a break will be welcome. I'd be glad to come with you."   
  
His face broke into a smile -that reminded her with a pang of why she had first been attracted to him, before he and Usagi had gotten together. "I'm glad. It just doesn't seem right to go skating alone."   
  
"My pleasure." She regretted now, in hindsight, becoming so distant from Mamoru when they broke up. At the time, it had been to keep herself from doing something . . . unwise . . . at seeing the two of them together. Now she just regretted not at least retaining his friendship.   
  
This new life had given her that chance, and she was not about to waste it the second time.  
  
* * *  
  
The dungeon bustled with the usual noises that heralded preparation for class-students talking, bookbags hitting the floor, the rustling of papers. Although they now remembered Snape again, they no longer remembered his absence-or, at most, believed he had just taken a brief break. As always, no one looked forward to the start of Potions and the advent of their professor.   
  
Well, perhaps a few of the Slyt'herins, well-favored in the past. Draco, though he might have been a part of that category before, looked towards the door in anticipation for an entirely different reason. He, for one, looked forward to seeing how the class adjusted to a changed Professor Snape--for it was clear, even in the small amount of time that he had seen him, that the changes in Snape ran far deeper than merely the ability to shift his age.   
  
Slowly, the door opened, but it was not Snape that entered. Carefully, as if fearful of his welcome, Harry wheeled himself into the room. For a moment, Draco allowed his mind to be distracted by speculation on how the other boy had managed all those stairs. His heart went out to Harry, though-he may have had a rotten childhood, but he had at least learned to express himself, although he still remained most sure of the methods of expressing the darker emotions. Happiness . . . that emotion, still so new to him, he had not quite figured out yet.   
  
But, despite being the "Boy Who Lived", Harry had disturbingly little self-confidence. Draco tried to catch his friend's eye and smile encouragingly, but he knew he dared do no more than that. Their friendship was too new to be jeopardized by exposure to public opinion-which would surely be harsh. It just wasn't right for the poster child of Gryffindor to actually consort with, horror of horrors, a Slytherin!   
  
"Look who has deigned to join us." A voice jeered loudly. "It's the cripple!"   
  
After only a moment, Draco identified the voice. Crabbe. He sank lower in his seat. Did I actually associate with that sort of person? He paused, thinking back to when he was fully under the control of his father. Was I actually that sort of person?  
  
Seeing a shadow detach itself from the side of one of the columns, he leaned forward expectantly. Decision or no decision to keep their friendship secret for now, if Snape did not step in and take exception to that remark, he was going to.   
  
"At least Potter's injury has done nothing to affect his mind." The shadow formed itself into Snape as he stepped forward into the light. "His disabilities have not disrupted his ability to think . . . an ability I have come to doubt that you ever possessed." Astonished laughter rippled through the classroom, and Draco's tension eased as he saw that Harry had begun to loosen up as well; he no longer stayed still in a manner reminiscent of one waiting for the axe to drop, merely one who had not yet begun to move.   
  
Snape nodded sharply. "Five points from Slytherin, and let this be a lesson to you: try considering the import of your words next time, before blurting them out." Silence descended on the class, one with a marked quality of shock. Never in their memory could they recall Snape having taken points from his own House, unless their was absolutely no other way to preserve even the illusion of fairness.   
  
He clapped his hands sharply. "Well, Potter, what are you waiting for? Get to your seat." The words, though sharp, held only a shadow of the black-haired man's former malice towards his student. Shaking off his shock, the black-haired boy swiftly wheeled over to where an empty space had been left for him, on the off chance that he might show up. Snape advanced to the podium and looked around at the class for a moment in silence.   
  
The class, too, remained silent, curious as to what this strange man who looked like Professor Snape and had his name, yet behaved in a manner completely alien, would do next. And, seeing that he had everyone's attention, without further ado Professor Snape began class.  
  
* * *  
  
"I wonder how the others are doing?" Setsuna mused, as they settled down for the night. She stared deeply upwards . . . into more mist, practically indistinguishable from that which covered the ground all around them.   
  
"I'm sure they're all okay.'" I assured her. "I think we'd know if anything had gone desperately wrong." I hope.  
  
Setsuna gave me a look that made it clear that she was quite aware that my reply was nine-tenths reassuring myself and the remaining one-tenth was just plain baseless hope.   
  
Melisande blinked. "I've heard tales that all the princesses of our solar system were tied together by an unbreakable link. That, if they concentrated hard enough, they could determine the state of well-being and sometimes general mood of all the other princesses--though only those soulbonded could do so with ease, speed, and complete accuracy."   
  
"Unbreakable even by death?" Setsuna asked quizzically. She had not died, but the rest of us surely had--and neither of us had felt the existence of this so-called bond before.  
  
The silver-haired girl's eyes widened ever so slightly. It was obvious she had forgotten that small detail, for that was one question she could not answer.   
  
* * *  
  
"Michiru, you are the Goddess of Music!" George swore fervently, bending over liberally marked sheets of musical notation, adding here, making small changes there.   
  
Fred nodded his agreement. "There's something there in our music now, that wasn't there before. A sparkle."   
  
Michiru tsked. "You overestimate my impact on your music. The 'sparkle' was there all along, it's just that small errors and inconsistencies hid it. All I've done is help you clean it up a bit, to give that sparkle a better chance to be noticed."   
  
"Really? But this is just . . . I don't know . . . just would-be popular music. Classical music is a lot more complicated."   
  
Michiru shrugged. "You may be right. But remember, I grew up on classical music; it was practically my life. Classical music comes far more easily to me than what you are doing-just as writing popular music is easier for you than trying to write classical would be. You see my point?"   
  
Fred frowned. "So, basically, you're saying to write what you know. Only applied to composition instead." He looked over at the scattered papers and sighed as he began to pack up his old, beaten fiddle. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem like we're ever going to get anywhere."   
  
Michiru leaned back. "It is true, it will be kind of hard to break into the public eye with the Three Lights to compete with. You might want to wait on actually releasing anything for a while. But you could at least begin feeling some recording companies out." She paused. "And if no one's interested . . . well, at least you've still got the joke shop to fall back on for a while. Then you try again, when the public atmosphere seems more inviting."  
  
"I'm so glad you're our friend." Fred smiled softly.   
  
"Not only are you a real neat person to be around over all--"   
  
"--but you've given us the one thing we never before had. Hope."   
  
"We're actually beginning to believe that this might work, that it can become more than a mere dream." George impulsively hugged the smaller teal-haired girl. "Thank you."   
  
And Michiru returned the hug, smiling back. "I may have given you hope, but you have given me something far more precious than that." Again, unconsciously, she began to twist the ring. "You have shown me something I felt I had forgotten, far too long ago."   
  
"You taught me how to find joy in life."   
  
* * *  
  
"Visitors." The hat told him. Unnecessary, but then, that's the sort of remark the hat most enjoyed making. It acted completely serious when deciding which House to place people in, but it more than made up for that seriousness the rest of the year.   
  
He looked up. "Hello. What brings you here?"   
  
The man blinked. "Oh, you must be Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster. Our daughter told us we should probably come see you at some point, but then she got distracted before we got the chance to ask her where we could find you."   
  
"We've been wandering around the school trying to find you since then." The woman added quietly, with a small amused smile. "Most of the people we've met don't seem to have a very clear idea of where your office is. Does it change a lot?" Her English-actually, the manner of speaking of both of them-was somewhat stilted, flavored slightly with an accent that tickled the edges of his memory, but still perfectly understandable.   
  
"Yes, I am. And you are?" They dressed like Muggles, but surely they couldn't be. No Muggle could find this place on their own, after all.   
  
"I am Shiro Kino, and this is my wife Yui." The man stated, then added helpfully, "Our daughter Makoto goes here. She is a first year, in Hufflepuff."   
  
"Ah." That explained a bit. "So, what brings you to the school?"   
  
"We thought we'd surprise our daughter and come spend Christmas' here with her, instead of bringing her home over the holidays." Yui explained. "We flew to London from Tokyo, and then . . ." For some reason, Shiro shot his wife a look of, Dumbledore almost thought, warning. ". . . a friend of our daughter's brought us the rest of the way, when we found out that the train at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters only runs for students."   
  
"Forgive me, but aren't you . . . er, non-magical?" At the last moment, Dumbledore substituted in a slightly less offensive word.   
  
"As a brick." Shiro replied, somewhat flippantly. "Our daughter's invitation to Hogwarts took us all by considerable surprise."   
  
"And what do you wish of me?" Dumbledore asked. None of the parents had ever before thought to come, instead of waiting for their child to come home. But since they had already taken the initiative, he saw no real reason to deny them their request. "A place to stay, perhaps? I think that could be arranged."  
  
"That would be nice." Yui sighed. "We've been sleeping in the halls."   
  
"The Muggle Studies teacher left." The hat reminded him, and he smiled.   
  
"I would be gladdened if you would be willing to do something for me in return, however. You see, because of the recent tragedy, our Muggle Studies teacher went on extended leave. Since you have a unique insight into the Muggle world, would you be willing to substitute in as a teacher during your stay here, before we break for winter?"   
  
Both blinked. "If you think we can help . . ."   
  
"Sure, why not."   
  
* * *  
  
She walked into the room. It was the classroom for the class that upper years sometimes took, Muggle Studies. Funny, that people took such great interest in studying what she had been for the first seventeen years of her life. Of course, even in this world, for these eleven years she had not lived, she had been raised as a Muggle. So that was the way she was most comfortable with approaching a problem.   
  
She didn't even know what the magical equivalent of a telephone was, after all. So she had come here, to see if the Muggle Studies professor had a phone she could use.   
  
And bingo, there one was, a cell phone, right out there on the desk. Perhaps it had been the subject of study for that day's class. She picked it up, and with only the slightest of hesitations, dialed the number she wanted to reach.   
  
There was another call she wanted to make, too, but that one could wait. This one was greatly the more important of the two.   
  
"Moshi moshi?" Good, one of them had picked it up.   
  
"Hello, mom?" She leaned against the windowsill, needing the feeling of light striking her back to counteract the increasing feeling of darkness beginning to hover over her. "Could you tell me who it was we went out to meet, that night?"   
  
"Of course. You told me yourself." She crossed her fingers. _Please . . . let it be him . . ._ "Her name was Neherenia."  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
27. More Revelations  
  
In a shadowed room, the phone rang. Four or five times it rang, until finally the answering machine picked up.   
  
"Moshi moshi?" In the room, three childlike figures shot upright. The voice called them in their native language, nearly identical to the language of a small country called Japan on this world. But who would know that? They had been nowhere near anyone who even knew Japanese, since coming here.  
  
"All right. I understand that you don't want to pick up the phone." The voice continued, seemingly unconcerned. It was a female voice, with a lack of undertones that marked it most likely that of a child. But if so, she was most definitely a very unusual child-much like themselves.   
  
"Hm. Sailor Starfighter? I don't suppose you would deign to talk with me? I guess not." Utter shock immobilized the three forms. "Well then, I just thought you should know that we know of you."  
  
"And we know your quest to find your princess. But do not worry, we will not obstruct you in your pursuit of it, so long as you do not harm innocents. Who knows? If you are willing to accept our help, we might even assist you."   
  
Closest to the phone, a finger snaked out and punched the speakerphone button. The ambient light grew as Yaten's anguished voice rang out. "Who are you?!"   
  
"Ah. I wondered if that might elicit a reaction." The voice warmed slightly. "Hello, Yaten." The silver-haired girl stiffened. How had she--whoever it was on the phone--known her name? "As to the answer of your question--I am one of the senshi that protects this solar system. Previously, I was one of the most . . . paranoid. I most likely still am." Her voice had lightened with self-deprecating amusement. "But I know you mean our princess no harm . . . so long as she stays out of your way."  
  
"Of course, she will most likely attempt to interfere, to aid you, because it is in her nature to do so." The voice darkened. "I warn you, though . . . if you attempt to harm her, I will personally make sure Galaxia is the least of your worries."  
  
"Do you know where she is?" Taiki asked softly, referring to their princess.  
  
"No." The voice admitted freely. The three sagged with disappointment, but brightened at her next statement. "But I know where she most likely will be. And I know that you have been followed here, after your flight from Kinmokusei. Galaxia is coming."   
  
And with a click, the connection went dead.   
  
* * *  
  
"Young lady?" Michiru stiffened, and turned around fearing the worst. Two people stood there. Both had brown hair, although the man's was considerably darker and the woman's considerably redder. The woman had dark brown eyes the shade of her husband's hair, while the man's eyes were a brilliant green. "Can I have my cell phone back now?" The man asked politely, with a noticeable Japanese accent.  
  
Michiru blushed, wondering with sudden worry how much they had heard. Hopefully, she had spoken softly enough . . .  
  
She closed the phone with a quiet click and handed it back to the man. "Thank you for its use." She smiled brightly. "I just had a couple calls I really needed to make, and I grew up as a Muggle, you know, so I have no idea what the magical way is to call home."   
  
The two people exchanged glances. "I think I recognize you." The man finally said. "You were one of Ko-chan's friends. I suppose you're a senshi too?"   
  
"Ko-chan?" Michiru had stiffened up at the mention of senshi. Who was this?   
  
"Sailor Jupiter." The woman assisted. "I'm Yui Kino, and this is my husband Shiro. And you are?"   
  
Michiru sighed inwardly. But if Makoto had felt it safe to tell her parents--funny, she had thought they were dead, from a plane crash or something--there was no real point in keeping her identity secret, except perhaps out of spite. "I'm Michiru Kaiou, Sailor Neptune. And yes, that was senshi business. A few things I had to check up on."   
  
"Anything we can pass on to Ko-chan if we see her before you do?"   
  
Michiru considered. "Yes." She finally replied. "Tell them that Neherenia was our last enemy, and that the Three Lights are here. They will understand what I mean."   
  
* * *  
  
Yui finally found her daughter in the enormous kitchen of the school. She shook her head and smiled. Who would have thought that her tomboy of a daughter would actually develop an interest in one of the activities dearest to her heart--cooking. But she had discovered already that, in the night her daughter had gone out to fight that last enemy, she had changed considerably.   
  
In many ways, she was much more adult than before. As she stepped further into the room, she caught sight of her daughter's black-haired companion. Hotaru made a comment and Makoto tossed her head back and laughed joyously. A beautiful sound, it reminded Yui that, however much her daughter had changed, in many ways she also remained the same.   
  
She threaded her way over to the pair. "Hello. Looks like I've found you at last, Ko-chan."  
  
The auburn-haired girl looked up. "Oh, hi mom. I've just been giving Hotaru the cooking lesson she asked of me last week. Want to help?" She cocked her head. "Where have you been recently? I haven't seen you since . . ." She slowed to a stop and, shaking her head, turned back to her work.  
  
"Your father and I have been wandering throughout the school, trying to find our way to Professor Dumbledore's office."   
  
Makoto bit her lip. "Oh, I'm sorry. I really meant to take you there myself, but then stuff happened, and I completely forgot all about it." She brightened. "Is that why you're wearing a robe now?"   
  
Yui twirled around, grinning, showing off her navy blue robe. "You are now looking at one of the two new substitute Muggle Studies teachers."   
  
"Oh wow." Makoto was suitably appreciative. "That's right, I had heard that the old Muggle Studies teacher left for some reason."  
  
"I ran into one of your other friends. Neptune." Yui said abruptly, looking around. "She had a message she said she wanted me to pass on, if I met you before she did. That's really the reason I've been searching for you."   
  
Both the other girls also looked around. Hotaru lowered her voice. "What was the message?"   
  
Yui lowered her voice to a comparative volume level. "She said to tell you that Neherenia was the last enemy the senshi fought, and that the Three Lights are here."   
  
Both girls blanched. Hotaru looked at Makoto. Makoto looked at Hotaru. And in unison, they summed up their reaction to the news. "Oh shit."  
  
* * *  
  
She stood and looked around. On the surface, it seemed like nothing had changed. The same mist, going from the ground to the sky, from where she stood to the unseen horizon, completely obscuring everything past a few feet in front of her. Yet, she knew she had traveled somewhere. The transition would not have been nearly so rough, had she not. She turned around, and beheld a sight she would never have expected to see.   
  
The Gate, that portal she had used to come here, where she hoped Serenity had gone, had been destroyed. She walked up to the pile of rubble, her heart heavy. Touching one of the shards of metal that had once been the immense door, she reeled backward when it dissolved into less than dust at her touch. Had she caused this?   
  
She sat beside the pile of rubble, head in hands, as she stared through the pile of rubble at nothing. What could she do now? Even if she was in the same reality as Serenity, she had no way of reaching the blonde princess. She had failed once again.   
  
She did not note how long she sat there, in a morass of guilt, depression, and hopelessness. It might have been a few minutes, it might have been hours. This place acted as a twist of time, so the amount of time that had passed in the concrete reality was even less certain. Because people never got hungry here unless they expected to, she might even have sat days without noting the passage of time. All she knew was what finally brought her out of that depression a bit.   
  
An innocent, young voice. One she had never expected to hear again. Her head came up and she stared into limpid blue eyes, filled with endless compassion. "Chibi?"   
  
She smiled slightly, and pulled the red-haired child into a comforting hug, although the comfort was mostly for her own sake. "Oh, my _Kibou no Hikari_ (Light of Hope). What are you doing, all alone in a lonely place like this?"   
  
"Chibi." Her tiny brow furrowed, the child's voice expressed puzzlement. Then, seeming to see the person herself for the first time, instead of just a person in need of comfort, she scrambled away, righting herself in a cute, childlike parody of a fighting stance. "Galaxia." She hissed.   
  
"Yes." She admitted. Then a thought occurred. "Oh no. Chibi-chan, does this mean that Chaos is still loose here?"   
  
"You should know." Almost nothing remained of the playful, childish personality Chibi Chibi had adopted. "Seeing as you are the one under his control."  
  
"If I was, don't you think I'd be trying to kill you by now?" Galaxia asked. "I am Galaxia, but I am not *your* Galaxia. I came because I wanted to see Eternal Sailor Moon and tell her that, in our reality, all the star seeds have been restored to their proper regions of the galaxy, the planets are beginning to recover from the destruction I caused. Our galaxy is beginning to heal at last, from all the pain Chaos inflicted on it with my hand."   
  
Something had been tickling her thoughts, something subtly off about the entire conversation. She frowned suddenly. "Chibi-chan, who are you? You can't be the _Kibou no Hikari_. And if you aren't my star seed, then who are you, and what are you doing here?"   
  
"Why would I be your star seed?" The red-haired child asked. "You are the enemy."   
  
"You were my star seed, because I sent you away when I realized Chaos was taking control of my body, to find someone capable of defeating me." Galaxia smiled. "And Eternal Sailor Moon finally did."   
  
"And the Galaxy Cauldron?" Chibi Chibi had turned intent. "What did you--or she--do with the Galaxy Cauldron?"   
  
"What's that?" The two of them shared a silent moment of mutual incomprehension.   
  
The red-haired child crept back over and laid her hand on Galaxia's cheek. "You . . . no, you can't be my Galaxia. Your heart is too beautiful. How did you get here?"   
  
"Chaos stole a time key from Pluto, after he had Uranus and Neptune kill her and Saturn." The red-haired girl winced. "I forgot to give it back afterward, and now I'm rather glad I did. I wouldn't have been able to come here, otherwise." Her eyes narrowed. "And you? The only way for you to be trapped here is for you to have teleported here at some point after the Gates were destroyed."  
  
Chibi Chibi's eyes were haunted. "I could no longer bear my reality. The fighting, the endless fighting against Sailor Chaos . . . I couldn't take it anymore. So I came back . . . to do it over again."  
  
"Chibi-chan . . . who are you?"   
  
The red-haired child stepped away . . . and grew. The silver-haired woman with the eight-pointed star on her forehead and a short pure white fuku with rainbow stripes along the front smiled a small sad smile. "I am what Sailor Moon may someday become, and what I earnestly hope she never does. I am Sailor Cosmos."   
  
Galaxia stood. "Galaxia . . . my evil counterpart, overpowered by Chaos . . . she still exists here, doesn't she."   
  
Cosmos nodded, her simple earrings chiming at the edge of audibility with the movement. "I specifically requested to come back before the final battle." She smiled ever so slightly, a smile that even reached her sad old eyes. "Be proud, Galaxia. You are the last enemy we senshi ever had to face." She turned her head, and her smile disappeared. In a lower voice, almost to herself, she added, "At least . . . until Sailor Chaos returns . . ."  
  
"Is that a good thing, do you think?"   
  
Cosmos turned to her in shock. "You are asking if peace and harmony and goodwill are good?!"   
  
"They are good, yes . . . but are they good for the fighters in which the entirety of the galaxy must put their hopes and wishes? Don't you wonder sometimes if, had there not been such a time of peace and prosperity, and had you always had to strive to overcome ever-stronger enemies . . . if you might have been strong enough to face the true enemy when he did appear?" It was Galaxia's turn to bow her head, addressing more herself than the other senshi. "I know I have."   
  
She sat back down, then after a moment lay down, hands tucked under her head as she stared up into the ever-present mist. After a moment, Cosmos hesitantly joined her, lying in the opposite direction with her head six inches or so from Galaxia's. For a moment or two, she also contemplated the mist.   
  
"I think . . ." Galaxia began again, softly, ". . . I will probably always blame myself. I was supposed to be protector of the galaxy, after all. If only I had stayed in top shape, alert to any possible dangers, I might have caught Chaos earlier. Found a better way to get rid of him than by containing him within my self, and destroyed him before his destructive influence engulfed the galaxy in futile war, senshi against senshi with no real winners. Only those that died and those that had to remain living in the inferno the galaxy had become." She laughed bitterly. "See how much my protection is worth?"  
  
"It is true, there were no major enemies in my reign as Neo-Queen Serenity of Crystal Tokyo . . . except the Black Moon Crisis. Even then, as Neo-Queen Serenity, I had lost or given up a large portion of my power. It ended up being my past self who finally defeated that enemy. About all I could do was resurrect Pluto and give her a life of her own in the past."  
  
"That in itself should probably have been a warning." Galaxia pointed out. "Yes, to relinquish power is often beneficial, and you would be an extremely bad ruler, a true despot, if you were so in love with power that you couldn't bear to give any of it up. But you can't give up power if doing so makes you unable to perform your duty. That's not just silly, it's suicidal. Especially given how important our duties are."  
  
"Will you help me to defeat Chaos?" Cosmos turned her head to look at the golden senshi. "And try to prevent the future that is mine from ever coming into existence?"   
  
Galaxia turned her head. "I don't think defeating Chaos is the answer to your problem. But it is a step toward solving it. I will help you to make sure the dark future you have lived is destroyed, and a brighter future found, if I have to create that future myself."   
  
The silver senshi smiled. "Thank you." She said quietly.   
  
The gold senshi blinked and smiled shyly back. "My pleasure." Strangely enough, she found she actually meant it. The two most powerful people in the galaxy, doomed to be loners, had found solace in the unexpected friendship of each other.   
  
* * *  
  
"Minerva? Could you wait a moment, please?" The stern professor paused on her way out of Dumbledore's office at the conclusion of their weekly teacher meeting. She turned back around.   
  
"Yes?" The meeting had run longer than she anticipated. She had a class in fifteen minutes, and if she didn't get going soon she would be late.   
  
"The Hat told me to suggest that you look in the Book." He said, looking faintly apologetic.   
  
Professor McGonagall considered various semi-polite ways to tell her superior to shove it. Everyone knew the new names never appeared in the Book until the end of the spring semester, at which point letters had to be prepared, the first-year dorms straightened up and talked to, and various other things done in order to prepare the school for the advent of the new first-years the following semester. And the paperwork, of course. Lord knew there was always far too much paperwork.   
  
As if he heard her thoughts--more likely, he just correctly interpreted the mulish and disgruntled cast to her features, she ruefully acknowledged--he raised his shoulders in a vague motion that could have been a shrug. "You know the Hat. It only makes suggestions, never explanations, and delights in making everything as obscure as possible. And despite its idiosyncrasies, I can't think of one time in which it has been wrong."   
  
McGonagall sighed silently. She was well aware of that as well. "I'll look into it, Albus." She checked her watch as she excused herself, and began to hurry in the direction of her room. She would look into it after this next class.  
  
* * *  
  
_Slytherin_. McGonagall pushed her wire-rim glasses further up her nose, forcefully, as she returned to her room. She *detested* teaching Slytherin. Especially that supercilious favorite of Snape's, Draco Malfoy.   
  
She paused. Actually, it had not really occurred to her before, but Malfoy really hadn't been causing much trouble recently. He was actually one of the most well-mannered of the first-year Slytherins now, surprisingly enough. She smiled slightly. Overall, this particular crop of first-year Slytherins seemed to be considerably better than her normal expectations.   
  
She shrugged. If Lucius' whelp, unlike the man himself, actually showed an interest in developing a human heart, that was all good as far as she was concerned. She moved to the back of the room, remembering Dumbledore's request. Moving aside a shelf, she took out a chest that had been hidden in the specially-made alcove behind the shelf.   
  
People might call her paranoid, but she liked to think of it as just taking the appropriate precautions. She touched her wand to the lock and muttered a short word. Recognizing the combination of voice, wand, and actual word used as undeniably her own and not anyone else's, the lock obligingly clicked itself open.   
  
If anyone else tried to open the lock without her knowledge, it would give them the shock of their life. From the chest, she drew a large, leather-bound book. More specifically, the Book. Bringing it over to her desk, she absently turned up the light so that she could better see the writing that was, admittedly, often on the small, cramped, and nearly illegible side.   
  
Quickly, she flipped to the last page she had known to have writing on it.   
  
All seemed as expected. There was Harry Potter and the Tsukino girl . . . Serenity. Now there was a name that really didn't match the personality of the person possessing it. Fancy having two such brilliant Seekers in one year, and both from first year. A real pity about Harry being crippled, though. A real pity.   
  
And there was Lucius' whelp, and Crabbe and Goyle. Not surprising that the three of them would stick together, when their fathers had all been such chums as well. Crabbe and Goyle certainly didn't seem to be any smarter than their respective fathers. As to whether or not Draco would turn out as rotten as his father . . . perhaps not. She had decided to suspend judgment, for the nonce.   
  
Names that she did not recognize at a glance, some for which she could call up the memory of faces after a thought, and names she frankly could not remember at all.   
  
There were two of the latter. Haruka Ten'ou, and Setsuna Meiou. Their names were written in the Book, but strangely enough the notations made after the fact, the ones that marked their house affiliation--one had gone to Slytherin, and one to Hufflepuff--had been marked through. That was another automatic function of the Book.   
  
But surely, if these two first-years had been expelled, she would remember. It wasn't that often that they expelled children from Hogwarts, even Slytherin.   
  
No new names. She shrugged. Even the Hat could be wrong every once in a while. Idly, she flipped the page--this crop of names had finished one page off. And stopped and stared. Just what was going on?  
  
For there the new names were. Three of them. She ran her finger down the short list, saying the names aloud as she went.   
  
"Seiya Kou."  
  
"Taiki Kou."  
  
"Yaten Kou."   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
28. The Fall  
  
"I began to get suspicious when I saw a Three Lights poster and heard that they're currently here, in England, performing. Then I called my mother to double check, and she told me that the enemy we went out to fight that night was not Galaxia, but Neherenia."   
  
"She would know?" Ami asked skeptically.   
  
"I don't know about you, but my other self evidently let my mother in on my secret identity from the beginning. She's more likely to know than almost any other non-senshi." Michiru retorted. "We all knew, when we first appeared here, that this is not the world we grew up in. This is merely further proof." She looked, wordlessly, from one person to the next.   
  
Ami, whose parents were still divorced, but also much closer than before. Her father actually shared custody for her, this time around.   
  
Makoto, who had learned that both her parents were still alive, unclaimed by the airplane crash that hadn't happened yet or, possibly, wouldn't happen at all.   
  
Minako's family was essentially the same, except for the fact that they had never lived in England, and at this point had made no plans to do so in the future.  
  
Rei, whose mother was still alive and lived with her grandfather and herself at the shrine. Unfortunately, her father was still a politician that traveled far too often for anyone's liking. Her mother was beginning to talk of perhaps a divorce.   
  
Mamoru. Only his father had died in the car crash that previously took both his parents. His mother worked during the day to support them, but at least she was there for him in the evenings and at night.   
  
Hotaru. Her mother had died in the lab fire as she had in their other life, but Kaorinite had turned out to be a lab assistant and had also been purified after their fight with Pharoah 90. Evidently, Kaorinite still had a thing for Hotaru's father, and Hotaru's father was still as completely oblivious as before. This time, however, Hotaru was aiding Kaorinite's quest instead of attempting to obstruct it.   
  
Chibiusa. She had not even returned to Usagi's house before coming to Hogwarts, but it was unlikely that her situation would have changed by all that much. Since she was *their* Chibiusa, life in Crystal Tokyo had not changed for her. As for what Crystal Tokyo looked like now, in this place, no one had a clue.  
  
Finally, Usagi. Her home life had not changed except for one important addition. Her brother Shingo was now twins. Fraternal twins, to be exact. A boy and a girl, her new sister Chiyoko, but otherwise identical.   
  
As her gaze passed each person they nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly at times. "So . . ." She drawled. "What are you going to do about it?"   
  
"What do you mean?" Usagi asked. "We're going to find Chaos and beat him. Permanently." Her voice was infused with a fierceness, a fire that came to her eyes whenever she remembered the toll Chaos had taken on the lives of her friends.   
  
"How?" Michiru asked gently. "We don't know where he is right now, although since the Starlights are here he will probably come soon as well. The Starlights are female full-time, this time around, by the way." So immediately did Minako's face fall that it was funny to watch.   
  
She crossed her legs. "So. What, and how much, and when, are you going to tell the Starlights about ourselves? They know we exist, but they don't know how many or where we are. If my hunch is right, they'll probably be coming here soon--it would follow the way you seem to attract beings of power, both good and evil, like a particularly strong magnet." She stood. "But then again, that's really your decision, so I'll leave you to it."   
  
At the door, Usagi's soft voice, gently querying, stopped her momentarily. "Michiru?"   
  
She turned and smiled, a smile that amazingly touched her eyes as well as her lips. "I have no doubt in your ability to defeat Chaos. This time, knowing what you do now, you may even be able to do so without any other of our lives being lost. But I still don't believe in you. By both our reckoning, that makes me unfit to remain as a part of your group." She bowed her head slightly, and her eyes seemed to slide towards Hotaru before flicking away. "You have my word, though, that I will not interfere . . . the way I did last time." She turned with finality and disappeared through the doorway.   
  
* * *  
  
Flight lesson. Draco drifted aimlessly in the sky, drinking in the feeling of the breeze on his face. At such temperatures as this, the wind held an extra bite in it, cutting through his robes and skin as if they didn't exist, chilling him to the bone. Yet somehow he managed to separate the bite of the wind from its comforting feel with the memories of warm breezes on a perfect day.   
  
Specifically, a perfect morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise above the horizon and dispel the early morning fog. An early morning spent talking with his angel.   
  
. . . with Haruka. The thought still seemed so foreign, yet at the same time he couldn't believe he hadn't guessed before. He sighed, a small sound lost immediately in the whistle of the wind. He missed her. She had been his only true friend, and even though the gap was partly filled by Harry's presence and, to a lesser extent, Hotaru's, it just wasn't the same.   
  
He missed her with an intensity of emotion that he had only once before in his life encountered--the same intensity as his feelings of hatred toward his father. And, to a lesser extent, his mother, as his mother acted only as a mere shadow of his father and thus deserved only a mere shadow of the intensity of emotion he directed toward the former.   
  
He continued to drift idly, paying little to no attention to the lesson below him. That was one benefit to being "Malfoy" and perhaps the only one. No one really expected him to pay true and respectful attention to lessons. It went against his persona to be respectful toward anyone or anything--except, perhaps, his father. Then, suddenly, inexplicably, his attention was caught by movement at one of the seventh story windows down below . . .  
  
* * *  
  
The black-haired boy rolled closer to the window, squinting upwards as he tried to catch sight of people he knew. For obvious reasons, he could not join in on the flight lesson, so he preferred to not even be in the general area. Even just watching from above pained him, as he remembered what it had been like to be one of the black-clad figures floating so high up.   
  
Finally he recognized one. That shock of short blonde hair was practically unmistakable, especially combined with the way he easily sat on the broom. Slouched, almost. He considered waving, but finally decided regretfully against it. What were the chances that Draco would see the motion, much less recognize him from so far away? Checking a nearby clock, he rolled a bit back from the window. They would be returning from the flight lesson soon, and he had told Draco and Hotaru that he would meet them in one of the empty rooms on the third floor once they all got free from classes this afternoon.   
  
Turning, he saw two of the last people he had expected to see. "Hello Crabbe, Goyle." Much like "Malfoy", no one ever addressed those two by their first names. The two stood there, grinning in a decidedly unsettling manner, blocking his way. "Ah . . . could you please move?"   
  
"Now why would we want to do that . . . cripple?" One--Crabbe?--asked. "How you going to make us?"   
  
"Besides, we got business with you." Goyle (?) added. The two moved closer. "A message from Malfoy."   
  
Harry blinked. _Wha . . .?_ Crabbe moved past him and opened the window, through the simple expedient of breaking it. Goyle picked him up, wheelchair and all, and moved purposefully toward the window. Belatedly realizing what was happening, Harry began to thrash. _Twice is too much to ask for . . . Hotaru won't be near enough this time._   
  
Goyle grunted as one lucky punch hit him in the nose, but that didn't stop him from reaching the window. In suddenly slowed time, he tipped the chair and Harry felt himself beginning to slide. Incongruously, he noticed how beautiful and white the snow was, and that particular patch of grass underneath one of the trees, still a vibrant green as if the tree guarded a tiny little patch of eternal summer.   
  
Then he began to slide, and only one thought remained, tinted with regretful sadness at the betrayal. _Draco . . . _  
  
* * *  
  
"You think it was really all right for us to be referring to Mr. Malfoy familiar-like like that?" Crabbe asked worriedly. "I wouldn't want to be making him mad."  
  
Goyle turned back, after dumping the wheelchair out the window as well. He rubbed his arms absentmindedly; for such a skinny little stick Potter had weighed a bit more than he expected. "I wouldn't want to be making Mr. Malfoy mad either. But I want even less to make the Master mad. And the Master told us to do it this way."   
  
Crabbe nodded. "No, I don't want the Master mad at me. Mr. Malfoy will understand. He don't want the Master mad at him, neither."   
  
That logic satisfied them both, so they turned and left, again at ease in their small worlds.   
  
* * *  
  
Attention attracted by that mysterious movement, Draco floated gently downward, trying to catch a closer look. A struggle of some kind? But that was absurd, fights just don't happen at Hogwarts--and especially not in broad daylight. As the body began to fall, he sped up, as nearly mimicking a bullet as was humanly possible. No one could survive an eight-story fall. Except Haruka and Hotaru--and then only by transforming into their angel forms.   
  
His heart racing, it nevertheless skipped a beat when he saw the wheelchair that fell a few seconds afterward; when he came close enough to recognize the black-haired boy. Had it been possibly to speed up any further, he would have. _My angel, lend me thy wings . . . _It could have been only his imagination, but it seemed that the wind stopped fighting his descent and perhaps even aided him.   
  
They neared the ground now at an ominous rate, as Draco finally swooped underneath the falling black-haired boy. Frantically, he tried to pull up, but found the broom no longer responded to his commands. Harry fell across his lap, briefly opened emerald green eyes.   
  
From somewhere, Draco summoned an encouraging smile as his grey eyes met Harry's green. "Daijoubu." He whispered, one of the few Japanese words they both knew. "It will be alright."   
  
_This is going to hurt. _He remained conscious as they hit the ground, but not for long. As his consciousness swam away on a sea of pain, he only faintly registered the sound as the wheelchair crashed down upon them as well. And a feeling of irrelevant satisfaction. He had been right. Oh, how it hurt . . .  
  
* * *  
  
From his vantage position on the roof in the shadows of one of the many prominences, Professor Quirrell tucked away his wand and smiled with satisfaction. Perhaps the stupid boy would die now. He felt a bit guilty about killing whoever else it had been, but not excessively. They should not have attempted to save the other boy.   
  
_Any luck on finding the black-haired sailor girl?_ His Master asked, exerting that certain sort of pressure that guaranteed intense pain if he gave the wrong answer.   
  
And the wrong answer was all he had to give. "N-n-no, M-master. I-I-I'm s-sorry. I-I'll f-find her s-soon, I p-p-promise."  
  
_Please do._ His master acknowledged genially. Then, the pain began . . .  
  
* * *  
  
Haruka staggered and fell to her knees. "Haruka, what's wrong?" She heard through a thick blanket of grey fuzz. She did not reply, concentrating all her remaining energy upon staving off the impending faint.   
  
Finally, she looked up, still feeling lightheaded, but recovered enough to reply. "I . . . I don't know. But all of a sudden, I feel so weak . . ."   
  
Melisande blinked. "Maybe Uranus Knight is in some sort of grave trouble." She grinned. "Wow! Do you know what that means if that's true? It means the Knight-Senshi bond transcends the block between the Misty Realm and the Earth Realm, even when the Gate is broken! We might have proof!"   
  
Silence. She looked from one to the other. "You mean that's another thing you forgot? That whenever a senshi or their knight is in serious, life-threatening sort of trouble, they can draw upon the others' energy? Well, they can at other times too, but they can draw without asking permission first if it's life-threatening."   
  
Haruka looked up at Setsuna. Setsuna looked down at Haruka. Both looked at Melisande. Finally, Setsuna broke the silence. "Melisande . . . what is a Knight?"   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
29. Christmas Break, Part I: Breaking Away  
  
He felt.   
  
He felt the pain begin to recede. With the recession of the pain came an acknowledgment of the existence of the pain, where before there had only been the deep darkness of unconsciousness. But as the pain lessened, so came consciousness, creeping up on him.   
  
He opened his eyes and as his sight sharpened and grew used to the ambient light, he focused on the face that hovered above him. A familiar face, framed by shoulder-length black hair. "Hotaru." His voice grated, as if through long disuse. "Where am I?"   
  
"In the hospital wing. Madame Hooch had both of you brought here when you were discovered. What happened?"   
  
"I . . ." He couldn't quite remember, but as the pain continued to recede, flashes returned. ". . . I was drifting, and I saw someone--Harry--falling. From about the eighth floor. I dived after him, managed to catch him about a floor or two above the ground." He frowned. The next memory didn't make sense. Tentatively, he continued, "I . . . tried to pull up. But I couldn't. Then we crashed. I tried to position myself so that I would be on the bottom, I'm not sure I succeeded though." He smiled wryly. "Perhaps that was the wrong way to go about it, as by keeping Harry above me he would have borne the brunt of the force when the wheelchair landed on us. I assume it landed on us, that is."   
  
"You did manage to stay beneath Harry." Hotaru informed him. "But you're wrong about the wheelchair. It only just barely grazed Harry; must of it came down on the parts of you that were exposed. Your legs mostly."   
  
"My legs?" He inquired with dread.   
  
Hotaru pulled back the covers so he could see for himself. Both were encased in casts, but they hurt neither more nor less than the rest of him did. "Both were broken in several places. I've been able to speed the healing of most of the damage, but they insisted on putting them in casts anyway. The rest of you was one giant bruise, but there were no other major broken bones and very little internal bleeding. The legs were the worst of it."   
  
Not precisely true--the internal bleeding had been stopped mostly through her efforts. At least three of his ribs had broken, and two of those had come frighteningly close to puncturing his lungs. Without her there, his case would have been quite touch-and-go, and had been treated correspondingly by the hospital staff.   
  
And she had not been able to do at least as much as she thought she should be able to. For some reason, she had been feeling kind of weak all week, as if something was sapping her strength gradually. She tended to shrug off the feeling, though, as it was a small enough drain that all had been really affected was her healing capacity.   
  
But the hospital staff had advised that she downplay his injuries to him in order to reduce the shock. She understood the logic, so she was careful to do exactly that. She patted one of the casts. "At the rate you've been healing, you should be out of these and 100% fine by Christmas break."   
  
"But Christmas break is . . . two weeks away? At least." He added up the days in his head. "Surely I'll be able to get up before that."   
  
"Christmas break starts this Friday." Hotaru told him flatly. "Today is Monday. You lost about a week, while you were being healed."   
  
He blinked, shocked. "Where is Harry? Is he okay? He has woken up by now too, right?"   
  
"Harry is in the room next to yours. Physically, he is as perfectly fine as he has been since . . ." Since the Quidditch game. Since his first injury. Since he became paralyzed from the waist down. Those qualifiers drifted, unsaid but understood, in the air between the two.   
  
"There's something you're not telling me." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the stabbing pain caused by the motion. "Tell me, Hotaru."   
  
Hotaru opened her mouth, closed it.   
  
"Hotaru . . ." Not a threat, but a plea, almost a wail.   
  
"He hasn't woken up yet." She finally, reluctantly admitted. "There's nothing wrong with him, nothing more than before, but for some reason he hasn't awakened. He should have been awake a day or two ago at the latest." At last, she allowed a little of her own fears to show through. "The current theory is that he has fallen into a coma."   
  
"Oh, Hotaru." He reached out arms that were still rather yellow and green in places to enfold the Ravenclaw girl in a supportive hug. "Don't worry. It will be all right. Somehow, everything will be all right."   
  
Hotaru sighed all her anguish at being helpless, all her sorrow for the position her friend was in. "I wish I could be so optimistic. I wish I had some way of helping. If only that stupid scar didn't block me."   
  
"The scar serves as a protection of sorts, a protection that he will need." Draco allowed Hotaru to push him back down into a prone position. "It wasn't a mistake that the Quidditch field blew up in that one particular place just as Harry was flying over it. It was planned. And . . . last week . . . Harry was thrown out the window. I know it." Hotaru had gasped at his revelation. "What originally caught my attention was the struggle taking place near the window. Not the falling body. I don't know who, of course. Only Harry can tell us that."   
  
"And another thing. This is more subjective than the other two, but . . . I shouldn't have lost control of my broom like that. I had it under perfect control, until I caught Harry. I think someone interfered with my control--much like that first Quidditch game, when Harry nearly lost control of his broom. Except this time, they succeeded."   
  
"Except in one important respect." Hotaru sniffed and grinned through the remnants of her tears. "You're both still alive."   
  
* * *  
  
"I'm glad Harry survived." George sighed. "It would have been really awful if he had died. As for Malfoy . . . he should have. Certainly, no one would miss him."   
  
"I think it would have been horrible if anyone had died, even someone as seemingly unredeemable as Malfoy." Michiru said quietly.   
  
"Besides, he did try to save Harry. That should give him some points." Fred admitted reluctantly. "Even though if he had known it was Harry, I bet he would have just let Harry die. He's that sort of person."   
  
" 'The sort of person he is' would not deign to save anyone." Michiru pointed out with gentle irony. "The fact that he did--or at least tried--indicates that he might not be as bad as people say." Not that she believed that. She had her own memories of encounters with the arrogant blonde Slytherin, and people like that don't change. This so-called rescue had some sort of ulterior motive, she knew, even if she didn't know what it was yet. Still, she couldn't resist the chance to play devil's advocate.   
  
"Of course he's as bad as rumor paints him." George remained adamant. "He's a Malfoy, after all."   
  
* * *  
  
"You're sure about this?" Hotaru walked beside her friend. "You really ought to stay another couple of days. You're not fully healed yet, even if you can walk again and most of the bandages are gone."   
  
"Hotaru, if I stay another couple of days, I'm going to be trapped here for the entirety of Christmas break." He smiled wearily. "And while that is *exactly* what I'd love to do, I really do have to return home. My father . . . sooner or later he's going to find out what I did and how I've been acting. It will be better for me to confront him now, instead of waiting until *he* chooses the occasion."   
  
"Unfortunately, I can see the sense in that." Hotaru sighed. "Just . . . don't do anything foolish, all right? If you go off and get yourself hurt without me there to heal you, I'll never forgive you."   
  
"Don't worry." Draco grinned engagingly. "I'll be fine. After all, I've got you and Harry to come back to." _And Haruka . . . wherever she is. I wish she would return . . ._  
  
"Yeah. And if anything goes wrong, I will personally find *some* way to wake Harry up, just so we can *both* have the pleasure of kicking you into next Tuesday."  
  
"Almost makes me wish something would go wrong." He sighed, turning his head to look back toward the hospital room and the still-catatonic black-haired boy lying within. "Listen. If he wakes up, I want you to let me know. No matter what."   
  
"But how?" Hotaru asked. "I doubt you'd want me calling you at your house, and you don't have your own cell phone, do you?"   
  
Draco pulled out the communicator Haruka had given him. "You know how to get into contact with this, don't you?" At Hotaru's shocked gaze, he hastily added, "Uranus gave it to me . . ." His voice faltered, as he finished, ". . . shortly before she disappeared."   
  
Hotaru nodded slowly. Haruka tended to be a quick judge of character, but once she made her decision to treat another as a friend, nothing would stop her from aiding that person in any way possible in her ability. Once Draco was mentally tagged as 'friend', Haruka would have had no compunction in giving him a magical, highly suspicious and clearly extraterrestrial (to people who knew how to look) piece of equipment.   
  
Belatedly, she realized she had not yet answered Draco's question. "Yes, I can contact that. And you can contact me any time--just press the violet button." Abruptly, she hugged the blonde Slytherin, careless of whoever might or might not be watching. "Be safe, Draco."   
  
He smiled and hugged her back, just as tightly. "Daijoubu, Hotaru. You'll see."   
  
* * *  
  
"Mama!" Michiru called, as she ducked and twisted her way through the crowd surrounding the Hogwarts Express. "Mama, over here!"   
  
"So, how'd you like your first semester at Hogwarts?" Sachiko asked her grinning daughter.   
  
Michiru shrugged. "I'll tell you all about it later." In yet another lightning change of mood, she returned to a state of bubbling over with happiness. "C'mon, Mom, I want you to meet my new friends." She took her mother's hand and dragged her off in the direction she had last seen Fred and George going toward.   
  
Finally, the crowd cleared somewhat, and she reached her goal. "Mom, I want you to meet Fred and George Weasley. Fred is the one with the dirt on his nose." The redhead in question reached up to rub at his nose before realizing that that was exactly the reaction the aqua-haired girl had intended to provoke. He then retaliated by combining a mock glare with a roll of his eyes.   
  
"They're third years. And that's Ron, I think--your name is Ron, right?--he's a first year too." She turned to the smallest member of the redheaded party. "And you must be Ginny. Fred and George have told me plenty of stories about you." She leaned closer and winked conspiratorially at the smaller girl. "I'm not sure how many of their stories I should believe, though."   
  
The other girl blinked, as if astonished that Michiru was actually directing her comments towards her. Then, as the import of the message came through, she grinned shyly. "I don't know. They tend to lie a lot, though." Ginny confided with a grin as the two of her brothers in question began to splutter indignantly.   
  
Sachiko stood back and smiled quietly. Her daughter had always been rather quiet and introverted. It was nice to see her finally beginning to open up and make friends. She smiled at the other mother, then blinked. "Molly? Is that really you?"   
  
The redhead blinked back. "Sachiko? Sachiko Amiru? It's been donkey's years! Where have you been hiding yourself?"   
  
"Sachiko Kaiou, now." The blue-haired woman smiled. "After I graduated, I moved back to Japan and went to a Muggle college. Some years later, I ran back into Aki and we decided to get back together. This is my daughter, Michiru."   
  
Molly Weasley smiled. "I'm glad to hear the two of you finally got your acts together."  
  
"And you? Did you finally get Arthur to notice you?"   
  
Her smug grin said it all. "I had to come close to bashing him over the head and dragging him back to my cave by the hair, but yes, he finally noticed me. I have these five here, plus my two older boys--but they already graduated a couple years ago."  
  
A growing silence attracted the worried glances of both mothers, a silence that had begun with the two girls and quickly spread to the remaining boys. Finally, Michiru broke the silence. "Harry . . . I never really got to know him all that well. He's staying at Hogwarts over winter break."   
  
The adults exchanged glances. There was obviously quite a bit that Michiru had left out of that statement; the seemingly innocuous words were bolstered by dark, somewhat sad undertones. Ginny, however, heard only the words. Her face fell. "Oh, that's too bad. I wanted to see him again. Oh well, he'll be coming through here for summer break, I'm sure."   
  
"Yes." Michiru agreed, suddenly smiling again. "He will."   
  
* * *  
  
"Mom?" The conversations had died down gradually, and eventually the Weasleys and the Kaious said their temporary goodbyes after exchanging telephone numbers, addresses, and other means of getting in touch with each other of both the magical and non-magical sorts. "What House were you in? And Dad?"   
  
"I was a part of Ravenclaw." Her mother answered, then hesitated. "Your father . . . now, I don't want you to think badly of him. He's not a bad person. If he was, I would never have married him."   
  
"Mom." Michiru cut short her mother's stream of words. "Dad was in Slytherin, wasn't he." She shook her head, a smile on her face. "Like father, like daughter, I guess."   
  
"Yes he was and . . . what? You're in Slytherin too? Huh." Her mother digested the information, a considering look on her face. "Yes, I suppose you really do tend to take after your father more in the way you look at the world. Still, I don't know why, but I never expected . . ." She shook her head. "Well, whatever house you're in, I hope you're happy there."   
  
"I was lonely for a while." Michiru admitted with a sigh. "But then I happened to run into Fred and George again, and we really hit it off." She grinned. "It's impossible to feel lonely with friends like them around."   
  
"So, are they Slytherin too?" Sachiko nearly shook her head at the thought. Molly had been a fellow Ravenclaw, but she had been about as Gryffindor as a person could get without actually being a Gryffindor herself. Arthur had been a Gryffindor through and through, one of the reasons Molly and Arthur had always gotten along so well.   
  
"No, I get the idea that the entire family is Gryffindor. Like it's a tradition or something." She smiled. "As you can see, our friendship is just a wee tad unorthodox. But I don't mind, and they don't mind, and all three of us care very little what most of the rest of the world thinks. Those that really matter, understand anyway."  
  
"Aki and I always felt that way--although a friendship between Ravenclaw and Slytherin is not nearly as . . . well, almost taboo . . . as one between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin." She paused. "There was something about Harry Potter you weren't saying."   
  
Michiru pressed her lips together, then abruptly sighed. "Harry became Gryffindor Seeker for their Quidditch team." She paused, and reluctantly continued. "During the second game, a part of the field blew up and Harry was caught in the blast." She closed her eyes. "He lived, but only just barely. He was paralyzed from the waist down."   
  
Sachiko gasped. Even in Japan, they had heard stories of the 'Boy Who Lived', and to hear that this had happened to him . . . she refrained from comment, however, as she could see from Michiru's expression that there was still more to tell.   
  
"Then, only about two weeks ago, he fell from a window on the eighth story. Some people, myself included, believe that he was thrown. There is no way he could have possibly survived, except for one lucky coincidence. One of the other students happened to catch sight of Harry as he fell and managed to pull off a partial rescue. Both were hospitalized, but Malfoy was let out a couple of days ago."   
  
"Malfoy? As in Lucius Malfoy's child?"   
  
"If Lucius Malfoy was a nasty slimeball, I'm sure the two are somehow related."   
  
Sachiko choked back a delighted laugh. "I never thought to apply the term 'nasty slimeball' to Lucius, but it fits amazingly well. I'm going to have to remember that." She sobered quickly. "And Harry?"   
  
"When I left, he had been asleep for nearly two weeks. All the other damage has pretty much healed; the current hypothesis, I think, is that he has fallen into a coma. We can only hope that he will wake up eventually."   
  
And there really wasn't much that could be said to that.   
  
* * *  
  
They met outside the train station, as had been prearranged. "Son." A careful nod. Not too deep, for that would imply emotional attachment to his son's return. Not too shallow, though, because that would be as bad as refusal to acknowledge him at all. A grave insult, and one he would never stoop to giving to one he did not fully believe deserved it.   
  
"Father." Another careful nod, one of exactly the same depth and duration. Any more would be careless, any less unfilial. Conscious of the bag on his shoulder, he was glad he had only brought it and not his entire trunk. From behind, the chauffeur stepped up and opened the door for him--a Muggle-style limousine, a symbol of his father's status in the Muggle realm as well. He stepped into the car, careful to give the chauffeur only the barest minimum of a nod. Any more, and his father would know something was different.   
  
His father slid into the passenger seat in front, leaving him the sole occupant of the immense back area. "So." His father started, glancing back over his shoulder. "How was school."   
  
Draco considered in silence for a moment, trying to remember what sort of thing he would have said. Finally, he affected a bored sigh. "Depressingly plebian. Far too many mudbloods, littering the place with their filthy habits." There he stopped. Neither of them had ever been much for conversation--at least not with each other.   
  
The rest of the ride continued in silence. His father asked no more questions, and he volunteered no more answers.   
  
* * *  
  
When they got back to the house--he never thought of it as home, could not even remember a time in which he had referred to it in those terms--the first thing both father and son saw was the owl. It hooted once and his father glided over, untying the message from the owl's foreleg. Message delivered, it hooted once more and flew away. Draco couldn't help thinking that he wished he could do the same.   
  
His father opened the letter, skimming at first, then stopping suddenly and peering more closely, as if disbelieving the message written within. Finally, he slammed the letter down and looked up. "What utter bullshit."   
  
Draco carefully refrained from responding, though that was the first time in his life he had ever heard his father swear. The man felt that it was unrefined to stoop to such vulgar means of communication--one of the few things about his father that Draco agreed with. Perhaps the only one.   
  
His father forced a laugh. "Can you guess what this letter says? It is a congratulations letter. A letter of congratulations! To my brave son who rescued Harry Potter from certain death. Harry Potter! How utterly absurd." His grey eyes suddenly narrowed, focused on his son with piercing intensity. "Or is it?"   
  
Draco raised his head, looking his father straight in the eye. Silver to grey, grey to silver. The only difference was in the person that resided behind those eyes. The kind, open person that he was slowly learning to become, and the cold, harsh man who felt no compunction about betraying anyone or anything if the price was right.   
  
He knew that, whatever he said now, his father would believe only what he chose to believe. And he found he truly didn't care. His father might kill him? Fine. Death would be better than having him as a father and being required to follow in his footsteps. He would achieve freedom now, he swore it. And if the only freedom he could find was through death . . . so be it.   
  
"No, Lucius, it is not absurd." A layer of ice covered his eyes, simulating the coldness he had endured his entire life. The coldness that he had always believed was all there was to social relations, until a warm wind blew into his life one cool morning as he sat watching the sunrise alone. "I rescued Harry. You know why? Because Harry is my friend."   
  
Suddenly, burning anger consumed all the ice. "My friend. One of only three. Do you even know what the word 'friend' means, Lucius? Do you? If so, you never taught it to me. I had to wait until I found someone I first hated, then came to love as the first friend I had ever had. Because of you." He stood shaking, past red into paleness with the sheer force of his anger.   
  
"I rescued Harry because I care about him. If anything more were to happen to him, I would be devastated. Because that's what friendship is about. Caring. And that is why you will never understand the concept of friendship, because you do not have a caring bone in your body." Uncontrollable tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. "When I was younger, I would have done anything for you. Anything to earn your approval. But you know what? I don't care what you think anymore."  
  
"My angel taught me that the only person whose opinion really matters, when it comes down to it, is my own. The people I love, in a way they become a part of me, just as I like to think I have become in a way a part of them. Their opinions matter to me as well."   
  
"But I don't care for you. I don't care even to be near you. I used to think I cared, but for a long time that has been because I thought it was my duty to care. You want to know the truth, Lucius? I hate you. I hate you and all you stand for. I hate all the things you made me do and all the things you made me watch you do. And you can't make me do those things any more." He smiled slowly, letting go of part of his anger as he vented all his pent-up feelings toward his father. "Never again, Lucius. Never again."   
  
His father took out his wand. He was amazed to see . . . was that a trace of sorrow on the man's face. "You were wrong on one account, Draco." His father said. "I could have cared. But you never lived up to my expectations."   
  
He nodded slowly. A deep nod, one of irrevocable decision. "So be it. I no longer have a son."   
  
And then the words that Draco had anticipated and dreaded and expected.   
  
"_Avada Kedav . . ._"  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
30. Christmas Break, Part II: Ghostly Aid  
  
"So we are all agreed?" Usagi asked.   
  
Rei tapped her foot impatiently. "Look. We've decided to do it. We all want the fresh start this will provide us with. Now we had better hurry. I want to catch the late Hogwarts Express out of here, and as it is we're cutting it a bit close. I don't want to be stuck here over Christmas. No offense intended."   
  
"None taken." Hotaru and Makoto, the only two staying, assured her in unison.   
  
"At this point in time, I wouldn't allow myself to be dragged away from here if I was made entirely of metal and a giant magnet was pulling at me." Hotaru said quietly, with a smile on her face. "But I agree. Let's get this over with."   
  
The six--Hotaru and all the inner senshi--sat in a rough circle, and all but Ami closed their eyes. The blue-haired girl raised her wand, fixing very carefully in her mind what she wanted to happen. Not the battles, she rather doubted that was even possible, but the Three Lights themselves--their male selves, that is. Trying to extricate the Starlights without dealing with the battles would have been well-nigh impossible.   
  
She positioned her wand carefully to include all those present, including herself, then intoned the word that her research had brought to her attention.   
  
"_Obliviate._"  
  
* * *  
  
Draco had closed his eyes, at rest with himself. If anything, he regretted breaking his promise to Hotaru and Harry. Still, this seemed the best way. He waited, fatalistically, for that last syllable. When it didn't fall, he opened his eyes, confused.   
  
She stood in front of him. "Go now."   
  
Her hair was a very dark red, much like the auburn of Makoto's hair only redder. She was tallish and slender and as she stood between him and his father, she seemed to glow very lightly.   
  
She turned her head and, as he stared into compelling green eyes, he knew beyond a doubt who she was. "Run, Draco. I can only hold him for so long." Shaking his head he turned and obeyed her. A whisper curled through the air toward him, carried upon a soft breeze. "Never doubt that you too are important."   
  
And, even softer, "Tell Harry I said hi."   
  
* * *  
  
He sat. In a chair, in front of a large clear glass window and a screen that read the words, "To Tokyo International Airport. 3:00 pm." He shook his head.   
  
He knew he had to get to Tokyo. Haruka's father--the man who was not so bad after all--was there, as was Hotaru's father and, in her opinion, soon-to-be step-mother. Either might be able to be convinced to take him in. Rarities, in the world of both Muggles and wizards, people that were not his enemies.   
  
But how?   
  
He had not realized that he uttered the last aloud until he recieved an answer. "That's simple." The voice held a slight accent, but not one that he recognized. He turned his head. A man now sat in a seat he could have sworn was empty. Shortish, with brown hair and muddy medium eyes, he was utterly unremarkable. "Quite simple." The man continued smoothly. "All you have to do is hijack the plane."   
  
"Are you mad? I would never do that!" He could see a very faint glow now, and curiousity briefly overcame his indignation. "Is that what you tried?"   
  
"How'd you guess? Yes, tried was a good word for it. Tried and failed." The medium man sighed and stood up. "Well, kid, sometimes that's just life. Or, in my case, death." He walked away, and as he walked he faded.   
  
"I like your attitude, kid."   
  
He recognized the glow at once this time. Strange, how there had never seemed to be so many ghosts around. Sure, there were plenty at Hogwarts, but not elsewhere. He nodded pleasantly to the new ghost, another fairly ordinary-looking man. Brown hair darker than the hijacker's, and eyes a very pleasant and calming blue.   
  
"Cheer up. I think I can help you."   
  
"You can? How?"   
  
"You need a ticket, right? So come over to this internet station." The ghost led him over to a nearby kiosk. "Order it from here."   
  
"How? I need money, and unfortunately I don't know my father's credit card number." Draco smiled momentarily at the thought of stealing money from his father . . . no, Lucius. From Lucius Malfoy in that manner.   
  
"Use mine. I haven't been dead for too long yet, so hopefully my account hasn't been closed. While you're getting there, I'm going to go check something. Be right back. Here's my account number, if you get there before I get back." The ghost rattled off a string of numbers and Draco blinked, asking for repitition until he was sure he had the number correctly. Then the ghost vanished.   
  
Rapidly, Draco typed. His . . . Lucius kept several computers around the house, and they had often provided him with a way to keep himself amused, when Lucius was not around or otherwise unavailable. Hypocritical, really, that he disliked Muggles so greatly yet made use of so much of their technology.   
  
Finally, he typed in the last numeral and pressed the enter key and waited.   
  
"James Daniels."  
  
"Deceased November 15 of this year. Gunshot wound."  
  
"Access Denied. Account Closed."  
  
"Phooey. I was afraid of that." A voice muttered from over his shoulder. Draco looked up at the ghost. James? And he had died the day of Harry's first injury. A spooky coincidence. James shrugged. "Oh well, time for plan B. Come with me."   
  
* * *  
  
"Captain? There's a boy out here who asked for you by name." A stewardess poked her head into the flight compartment. "Should I show him in? He doesn't have a ticket."   
  
The man shrugged. "Sure, why not. No harm to it, and we've got plenty of time left before takeoff."   
  
And in came the boy. Small, he couldn't be older than ten or eleven. Maybe twelve, maximum. Short blonde hair rather disarrayed and wide silver-grey eyes that seemed adept at masking emotion. But clearly worried right now. "Don't worry, child." He assured the boy genially. "I won't bite."   
  
The boy blinked, then smiled shyly. "You're Jefferson Parker? Yeah, he says you wouldn't hurt a fly. He told me I could ask you for a ride on this plane?" The inflection turned the statement into a question. "I'm afraid I don't have a ticket, but my life will most likely be in danger if I remain in London any longer." He smirked slightly. "And he says you have a notoriously soft heart for people in trouble, especially children."   
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"Ah . . . James Daniels. At least, that's what his credit account said." As Jefferson wallowed in shock, the boy cocked his head and nodded abruptly. "Excuse me. He says you always called him Jack. My mistake."   
  
_Jack . . . _"Are you actually trying to claim that my friend is a ghost and is here in this room with us?" He was torn between hope and desperate, boiling anger.   
  
"I'm not trying to claim it. I can see him." He replied softly. "As clearly as I can see you, except he shines with a soft, fuzzy white light. He says . . . no, I'm not going to say that! I don't use that kind of language. Oh, fine." The boy sighed, then reluctantly continued, "He says you need to stop being a jackass and help me all ready. I can quote you his credit card number, if you like. He was single, although at the time of his death he had a girlfriend named Shirley. A fairly serious one, since they were beginning to make plans to get married."   
  
"You had a wife for about a year, but then you got divorced. There was one child, a daughter, but she was stillborn. You came over to his apartment that night and got drunk and cried for hours." Jeff winced. He still remembered that night, and he still hadn't forgiven himself for leaving his wife that night, as she had needed far more comfort than he. He still wondered if that had been the real reason she initiated the divorce proceedings.   
  
"Since then, you haven't had a serious girlfriend, or even . . . ew, no way am I going to say that either!" Another sigh. "Fine, fine, you're the boss. He says he seriously doubts you've even gotten laid since then."   
  
"That . . . that will be enough, I think." Jeff stammered. He was convinced. The information . . . and especially the phrasing of the things the boy had been most reluctant to say. Everything was Jack all over.   
  
Only to find out that the boy was not listening to him, but instead had cocked his head again. Suddenly, eyes wide in surprise, he erupted. "No way! She wouldn't!" He shook his head in disgust. "Never mind. She would. It is her job, after all." He turned to Jeff. "It seems we have yet another mutual acquaintance. The girl who told you to call her Shin."   
  
He shrugged. "Well, now I know why Jack's death date was such a coincidence, or rather, not a coincidence at all." He frowned, confused. "Or maybe it was a coincidence, it's just that she was involved in both events . . ." He shook his head. "Whatever. So, will you bring me along?"   
  
Jeff looked at the strange young boy and sighed. "It's the least I can do for a friend of Shin's. What's your name?"   
  
"Draco M--" He choked off, and for a moment a strange mix of burning hatred and sorrow flashed across his eyes. "Draco. Just Draco."   
  
* * *  
  
"What were you thinking?! Do you know how close he came to dying? Where were you?" Pluto yelled, forest green eyes flashing. "He will be the next Guardian of Time. He is the one with the greatest chance of rebuilding the Gates. Do you know what would have happened if he had died?!"   
  
"At least as well as you." Saturn snapped back. Her hair was in a disarray, her eyes red-rimmed and shadowed. It was obvious that, whatever substitute the planetary guardians needed for sleep, she had been getting far too little of. "I've been trying--all week, I might add--to figure out why Hotaru's energy levels are so low. There is no logical reason for the lapse, and all I can do is soothe her worries and hope that it truly is nothing to worry about."   
  
She ran a hand through her hair, momentarily wrestling it back into a semblance of straightness. "I have barely had time to even peek at him. And you know very well that nothing happened as expected. It's not my fault."   
  
Pluto sighed. "I know. I'm sorry I blew up at you like that. It's just . . ."   
  
"You're worried." Abruptly, Saturn's expression softened. "I know. We all are. But hey, he's still alive, right? Things still have a very good chance of turning out all right. We just have to have faith . . . both in him, and in ourselves."   
  
* * *  
  
// Search for your love . . .  
Search for your love //  
  
  
About to enter the first-year girls side, the pink-haired girl paused. The music . . . the words sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall from where. Perhaps, it was just her imagination. She walked further into the room, taking note that the rest of the girls were elsewhere. She knew that Millicent and Pansy and, of course, Michiru, had returned home for the winter holidays. Not that she saw that much of any of them.   
  
Millicent and Pansy . . . well, no one wanted to be around *them*. Except perhaps each other, for some strange reason. And Michiru . . . Chibiusa just couldn't get over how the teal-haired girl had so completely forgotten her beloved's very existance. True love was supposed to be stronger than that, somehow. Seeing Michiru finger the ring, having completely forgotten its meaning . . . it broke her heart.   
  
And Haruka, of course, was gone. Had been gone, and would still remain gone for some unspecified length of time. Sure, she wished they would come back soon, Aunt Haruka and Puu, but she no longer retained any real hope. Wherever they were, they were stuck there for the duration . . . and how long a duration, she wondered if even they knew.   
  
  
// Kimi wa itsumo kagayai teta  
egao hitotsu chiisana hoshi  
daisetsu ni shite ta yo //  
  
  
She walked further in. The music came from the area of Lindsey's bed, leading Chibiusa to conclude that the other girl had not gone home over Christmas break. Slightly surprising, as from all accounts it sounded like Lindsey's family was fairly close. She walked closer to her friend, and peered over the blue-black-haired girl's shoulder to see what had drawn her attention so closely. And froze.   
  
Noting the shadow that had so suddenly fallen over her book, Lindsey looked up. "Hello . . . oh, it's you, Usagi." Guiltily, the German girl tried to cover up the picture she was looking at, then gave up with a sigh. A small smile touched her lips and her eyes. "Well, it seems you've discovered my secret."   
  
Seemingly idly, the girl's finger touched the centerpiece. A beautiful, fairy-tale princess, blonde-haired blue-eyed in a long white dress, but with her hair up in such a unique style. "Serenity." She murmured, looking up into Chibiusa's face as if to gauge her reaction. The finger traveled to the right and a bit back, to the handsome dark-haired prince in black and silver armor standing at the princess' side but behind slightly, acknowledging her position. "Mamoru."   
  
Even Chibiusa's thoughts froze in astonishment, in horror . . . call it what you will. Blithely, as though unaware of the emotional turmoil her friend was experiencing, her finger continued its trail to the prince's left, the other person standing directly behind the princess, a long, dark-haired girl in a red dress with a heavy gold chain as a belt. "Rei." And in the background, the music continued to play . . .   
  
  
// Ano hi boku wa mamore nakute  
kuyashi namida kora eta dake  
itami ga nokoru yo //  
  
  
The words . . . Chibiusa's attention focused suddenly on the song, abandoning Lindsey for the moment. _That day I failed to protect you . . . _What a sad thing to be singing of. Yet, it continued to tickle at something in the back of her mind.   
  
"You haven't heard the song before?" Lindsey's voice, puzzled.   
  
Chibiusa shook her head. "I keep thinking . . . that I have somewhere. But it's not at all familiar to me."   
  
"Who are you, Usagi?" Lindsey asked. "I've accounted for everyone else, but you . . . there's nothing about you in here. Yet I know you must be related somehow."   
  
Chibiusa cracked a small smile. "You know too much. But now that you've figured out so much, I suppose there's no real reason for me to hold out, is there? I trust you not to tell anyone, after all."   
  
She pointed to the two characters Lindsey had first remarked upon--the princess and her faithful, protective prince. "In my world . . . yes, I came, originally, from a different world. In my world, these two were reborn, as in this one. Yet, neither rediscovered their former lives until they were much older. They grew up, and fell in love. A love mandated by destiny."   
  
"And eventually, they had a child, who in her turn grew up a bit. Then the child's best friend told her that something was coming, something that would strain the space-time continuum, and sent her someplace she would be safe."   
  
"Here." Lindsey said. "You."   
  
"Yes." Chibiusa smiled slightly. "Me."   
  
"That would explain why you didn't recognize this song." Lindsey allowed, as the music continued to play. "It's called 'Nagareboshi e', by the Three Lights. They're the newest popular group, and just about the most popular since the Beatles hit America."   
  
"The Three Lights." The name rebounded throughout her mind, and a sinking feeling made itself violently known. Perhaps . . . perhaps they were only returning here for a visit? Singing that song . . . no. But still, she could hope.   
  
* * *  
  
As he got off the plane, he turned slightly. Thanks for everything. The remark was adressed to both of them, to Mr. Parker and to Jack, who remained hovering there a few moments longer in acknowledgment of his words, before slowly fading out. He turned back forward and sighed. Now that he was in Tokyo, all he had to do was find Haruka's father's house. But how could he, when he spoke only a few words of the language?   
  
Drifting, he found to his relief that at least some of the signs had the English equivalent printed underneath. Where are you headed, child? A nice voice asked him, and he looked up.   
  
Please, I am trying to find my way to the Juuban district. He said, very politely, to the woman who stood at his side, glowing ever so slightly. Strangely, he found he could understand every word she said and she could evidently understand what he said as well, despite their lack of a common language.   
  
Forward and to your left will take you to the train. Then, just look at the map. She directed, pointing as she spoke.   
  
He nodded. Thank you. He continued on. The sheer size of the airport overwhelmed him, but by focusing on his goal he found he could ignore, somewhat, the feelings of complete insignificance it brought upon him.   
  
At one point, he was stopped. The man smiled kindly and said something in Japanese. He caught only one word he recognized, doko'. It meant where'. Probably, Where are you going all alone, child? or, more likely, Where are your parents?   
  
So he smiled in his best trusting manner. I'm going to Juuban. He replied.   
  
The man smiled and took him by his hand, taking him in the direction of the train. He paid for Draco's ticket himself, despite Draco trying to hand over some of the money he had been given at the beginning of the semester, for spending money'. At one particular train, the man stopped, pointing upward at the sign. He said.  
  
Draco nodded his understanding and bowed. Arigatou gozaimasu. The man patted him on the head and left, and Draco sat down on a nearby bench to wait for the train.   
  
* * *  
  
Once in Juuban, he continued to drift. Every once in a while, if people stopped, he would say hopefully, Yet, whenever that happened, they would hurry away.   
  
How could he know that they believed he was referring to the Ten'ou Bank, one of the three sides of the triangle that surrounded the Delta area, a disaster that had not yet fully left the minds of the people of Juuban. A disaster that, superstitiously, they still wanted to have nothing to do with.   
  
for fairly obvious reasons, elicited even less warm responses. Sure, he had been purified by Sailor Moon, him and that red-haired lab assistant of his and his creepy daughter, but most still wanted to have nothing to do with him.   
  
Ten'ou? What do you want with that pesky little no-good interfering murdering brat? Draco blinked at an answer he could finally understand and turned to face the voice that had spoken. A tall woman, with incredibly long black hair that pooled around her feet and a slinky black dress. And, of course, the telltale glow.   
  
You know the Ten'ous? He asked.   
  
The black-haired woman's eyes narrowed further. A sign grew to distinct visibility on her forehead, a deeply black five-pointed star. Know them? Her voice rose. It's because of that interfering Uranus and all her other interfering sailor brat friends that I'm like this now! Of course I know where she lives. If only I was still alive, I'd destroy the place. Atomize it! Break it up into all its tiny component pieces.   
  
Draco decided that this woman was not at all right in the head. Certainly she showed no evidence of having a wand, and how could she destroy anything so thoroughly without casting spells? Still . . . Could you lead me there? He asked hopefully.   
  
Why should I help you? She's not there anyway. But she's still alive out there somewhere. They all are. I can feel it. She continued to rave while Draco stood by quietly, then suddenly glanced his way. You're still here? Oh, very well. Follow me.   
  
* * *  
  
He bid the ghost a polite goodbye after arriving at the house she brought him to. Listen kid, you're cute. The ghost said abruptly. You ever decide to be smart and ditch the sailors, look me up.   
  
What's your name? He asked out of curiousity. She looked ever so slightly familiar, but he could not think how, or where from.   
  
My name is Mistress Nine. She said, then seemed to fold in on herself. A familiar visage reformed, wearing a school uniform in red and green and gold plaid. She winked, but the eyes were the same. Cold. Seductive. Wrong, in such a familiar face. But you can call me . . . Hotaru. She giggled and disappeared.   
  
* * *  
  
As twilight approached, a man walked home from work. He seemed to be a rather ordinary man, with tousled blonde hair and rather muddy bluish-greenish eyes surrounded by laugh lines and few frown lines. Still, from his expression one wondered if he had not been frowning more than smiling in recent times, as his sad expression deepened as he approached his home. Again, as always on this evening walk, he seriously considered moving. This neighborhood was too filled with memories.   
  
There, where he had first met his wife of less than a year. Less than a year, before she had run off with his brother, leaving him to raise their daughter alone, unable to deal with the fact that their daughter had less magical potential than a bucket full of mud. Less than six, before both had died in a freak automobile accident.   
  
There, the playground where he had so often brought his daughter to play, where she had run around shrieking with delight and dragged him into her play more often than not. He could never resist when she turned her smile on him.   
  
There, where she had first met her best friend, and he had become reaquainted with some old acquaintances of his own. They, too, had a daughter to whom the magical genes had inexplicably refused to pass. And there, where they had found out for the first time their daughters' eminently magical secret as the two dragged each other home, tired and dirty and worn and far past their bedtimes.   
  
Yet, if he moved, and she did someday come back, she wouldn't know where to go. He couldn't bear the thought of her wandering, alone and friendless. He couldn't convince himself that she *wouldn't* ever come back, that she had cut himself off from him for good. He refused to believe that he would never see her face again. And that was why, as always, he decided against moving. For another day, another week, another year, another ten years . . . however long it took, he would stay here.   
  
As he approached his doorway, his heart quickened in spite of himself. That, too, was usual, as he couldn't help but hope that today might be the day that he found her, waiting on the doorstep for him to come home.   
  
But wait! There was someone there. Someone with short blonde hair. He rushed forward and bent down to examine the sleeping face, then sat back on his heels, the disappointment rushing in. Of course it wasn't her. The facial structure was way off.   
  
The blonde child clenched his eyes, before opening them slowly. Grey, a grey that approached silver. The child yawned, then shook his head. You must be Haruka's father. He smiled groggily. She told me . . . I could trust you. With another giant yawn, the boy closed his eyes and, leaning trustingly against the adult's frame, fell fast asleep once more.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
31. Christmas Break, Part III: Finally Visible  
  
He waited patiently for the boy to awaken. A strange child, this. Just as he had all but given up hope that his daughter would return, this child appears and claims to know her. When he thought for some reason he had inspired in his child feelings of everlasting hate--although why, he did not know--this child claims that Haruka said he could be trusted.   
  
This child . . . how had he managed to find this place, when he spoke English and most likely not a word of Japanese? This specific place, out of all of Juuban, all of Tokyo, perhaps even all of Japan? Still, coming from London or America either one would be a dreadfully long journey. Not surprising that he fell asleep once he arrived somewhere he regarded as safe.   
  
"Yes." The soft, English tone--yes, definitely English, not American--drew him from his musings. "You look like her." The blonde boy smiled, seemingly caught up in good memories of his own. He sat up. "I'm sorry, I've been a terrible guest, haven't I? Falling asleep on your doorstep like that."   
  
"Don't worry about it." Hiroshi found that, yes, he could still remember how to speak English as well as understand it. A carry-over from his days at Hogwarts. "You said you know my daughter. Is she all right? Where is she?"   
  
The boy seemed to curl in on himself. "I . . . I was hoping you would know the answer to that. That she would be here. Yes, I like to think that I'm her friend, but she's been out of contact for months now. She just . . . disappeared . . . one day in the middle of Potions, and we haven't seen her since then. I got a letter . . . the only reference she made to where she disappeared off to was 'this place'--and that's when she told me that you could be trusted to come to."   
  
Potions . . . his daughter had gone to . . . "Hogwarts?!" Hiroshi blinked. Asking around there had never even occurred to him, because he knew how unmagical his daughter was. And, though he had been disappointed at first, he had slowly learned to accept the fact and love her just exactly for what she was. A beautiful, wonderful little blonde girl that he loved more than life itself.   
  
Which was why he had to allow her to risk her life. Because she would have anyway, but disapproving would have driven her from him permanently. So he had to let her go with a smile and welcome her back the same way, never showing how much his heart bled in between and how much he worried about that one time she might not come back.   
  
"Yes, that's where I met her. You mean you didn't know?"   
  
"No. My daughter had absolutely no magical talent, so I never even considered."   
  
Draco considered the clues he had gathered from Haruka's letter and from talks with Hotaru and decided that was distinctly possible. Still, it was Haruka's right to inform her father that she was not his daughter. Finally, he compromised. "Well, maybe she's a late bloomer. Because she sure has a lot of talent now." He remembered with a smile the incident where she wrote in large bold fiery letters on the inside of his bed hangings 'Gryffindor Rules!' in such away that it would be invisible by day, but blinding at night. He hadn't gotten any sleep those nights before he figured out how to get rid of it.  
  
"Maybe so." Hiroshi said doubtfully. The idea would certainly take some getting used to. ". . . I never did catch your name. But you look somewhat familiar, maybe I went to school with your parents? If they attended Hogwarts too, that is."   
  
"Oh, yes." The boy looked as if he had bitten into something acutely nasty. "Mine was one of those old rich families that has probably been attending Hogwarts since it was first built." He shook his head before looking up, his eyes once again clear. "I'm Draco."   
  
"Ten'ou Hiroshi. It is a pleasure to meet you, Draco." He made himself more comfortable in his chair. "Now . . . if you don't mind . . . would you tell me about my daughter? It sounds like you were great friends, and she's been out of touch for so long for reasons I still don't fully understand . . ." Realizing he was babbling to this eleven-year-old with large sad eyes that seemed wise beyond his years, he shut up.   
  
Draco smiled, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes, a dreamy smile on his face. "Let's see. I believe the first time I ever met Haruka . . . it must have been on the train. I thought she was another guy at first--she still hadn't quite gotten out of the habit of dressing and acting like one in the time I knew her, although she had begun to grow her hair out . . . but anyway, where was I? Right, the train.   
  
"Needless to say, considering my personality at that time, we did not get off to a very good start. In fact, she has managed to put me down harder, with more skill, and more frequently than anyone else I have ever known--and believe me, at that point in time, I deserved every put-down she threw at me."  
  
"Up until the day she disappeared, she still put me down every now and then. I think it was mostly to keep me from getting cocky and to keep up the appearance of our rivalry, more than any true animosity. I certainly tried my best to give as good as I got, with admittedly mixed results."   
  
He looked at Hiroshi. "Sir, your daughter is almost definitely the single person I would trust above any other with anything. Up to and including my life. Haruka is an extremely opinionated and stubborn person--I should know, as I share both those faults. But once she decides to like you, I truly believe that there is no greater nor stauncher friend. And I thank my lucky stars, whichever they may be, every day that she is willing to count me among her friends."   
  
Hiroshi shook his head. "If I didn't know I was the only Ten'ou anywhere near hear with a daughter named Haruka, I'd think you were talking about an entirely different person."  
  
"It might be better for you to think of her that way." Draco remembered the line about having lived nearly eighteen years, and the adult visage his angel had sometimes worn. His Haruka was not the one her father remembered, he'd be willing to bet a great deal on that. "She's been through a lot, more than you and I know . . . and more, I think, than we'll ever be capable of understanding. I am almost certain that the Haruka I know, though the same person, is not the daughter you remember.   
  
"Why and how, I don't know, as all I have to go on is speculation. But even that is her story to tell, when and if she ever chooses to divulge it."   
  
* * *  
  
As the door began to open, she went from dozing to wide awake and as combat-ready as she'd ever been in half a second flat. She neglected to pull out her glaive quite yet, as this was broad daylight and she was wearing her guise as Hotaru, the supposedly normal first-year from Ravenclaw. That person did not usually go around holding a giant silver-headed glaive.   
  
But the entrant proved to be nothing more suspicious than another girl. A smallish girl with black hair and darkish eyes and skin, she looked most likely Chinese, and the small badge on her robe identified her as a fellow Ravenclaw. Hotaru searched her memory. Chang . . . Cho Chang, that was it. She relaxed slightly, and cocked her head. "Come on in, Cho. What brings you here?"   
  
The slender girl started, focusing on Hotaru. "Oh, Hotaru, so this is where you have been running off to. I was looking for you, actually." She sidled the rest of the way in and sat down in a nearby chair, looking uncomfortable. "Um . . . I was wondering . . . if you have a partner on the Herbology project yet?"   
  
Hotaru groaned. "I had forgotten all about that thing. Do you not have a partner yet either?" The slender girl shook her head. "Oh. Well then . . . would you mind being mine?"  
  
"I was hoping to, if that's okay with you." Cho smiled.   
  
"On one condition though. We meet up here and do as much work as possible here as well. I want to be able to keep watch over Harry all the time."   
  
"I don't see any problem with that." Cho said agreeably. ". . . but surely the hospital staff take good enough care of him?"   
  
Hotaru shrugged. "This is the second time at least that he has nearly died. Without intervention he would have, and he still might if he doesn't wake up soon. I'm not trusting anyone with him when I'm not here until we find out just exactly who has been trying to kill him."   
  
She grinned. "Besides, I already have something of an informal nurse-in-training status here in the hospital wing. They may not understand my paranoia, but they let me do as I wish so long as I don't interfere with the professionals."   
  
Cho's eyes had turned darker with worry. "Still . . . why would anyone want to kill Harry Potter? I mean, he seems nice enough, those times I've seen him . . . and he's *Harry* *Potter*."  
  
"Where do you think he got the scar in the first place? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may not be around anymore, but surely you don't think that all his followers just turned good, died, or were locked up when he died. Some of them must have escaped."   
  
Cho shivered. "That . . . that's scary, Hotaru. When you put it that way . . . how can we ever be safe? They might be anywhere."   
  
Hotaru cocked her head. "Well, you trust people until they give you a good reason not to. Hopefully, at some point in your life, you find a group of friends whom you would give your life for or entrust your life to. I'm not saying that everyone's bad. Just that everyone is not necessarily good."   
  
"But Hotaru . . . we're just first-years. If someone really did come here, wanting to finish what he started . . . how could you possibly defend yourself, much less Harry?"  
  
Hotaru shrugged. "Magic is all well and good, but it is not the sum total of what there is to life. For one thing, I've researched a couple of good shield spells--they drain one's energy dreadfully, but I can hold one up for a couple of minutes easily, over myself or at least Harry."   
  
"For another thing . . ." She reached out with that curious mental/physical twitch and felt the comfortable weight of the Silence Glaive, cool against her palm. "There is no one I know of who is capable of saying spells with their head detached from their body."   
  
Cho eyed the glaive with a healthy dose of wariness. "Ah . . . aren't weapons not allowed on Hogwarts grounds?"   
  
"What weapon?" Hotaru blinked innocently, her hand empty once more. "McGonagall and Snape have both seen me with it, as has Hermione Granger and several others. No one has come to me about it yet, and if they did, I would simply tell the truth--that it is a unique weapon that is bonded to me only, a bond unbreakable by anything--including death. It's followed me through at least two, maybe three" she wasn't sure if this latest dimension switch counted, "incarnations already, and will continue to be mine to command until the time when I choose to pass it on to my successor."  
  
Cho seemed shell-shocked, before she slowly shook it off. "That would be a rather hard argument to dispute." She admitted with a small smile. "Well, your secret is safe with me, in any case."   
  
Hotaru smiled back. "I rather thought it would be." And, strangely enough, she had.   
  
* * *  
  
"So how did you manage to find your way here?" He asked.   
  
The blonde boy concentrated for a moment on the swing, going back and forth. A tiny ghost-child with red hair and wide blue eyes dashed in front of him, looked around in confusion, then disappeared. "You wouldn't believe me." He finally answered.   
  
The darkly tanned black-haired boy sitting in the other swing nodded agreement. "He's an adult. Of course he wouldn't understand. I only ever met one adult that was capable of seeing us . . . but I didn't like him too much. And anyway, he still didn't understand."  
  
"I don't know. Adults know and believe more than you'd think." A tall lady with darkish hair that shimmered green and blue, wearing a long old-fashioned gown of soothing ivory commented. For some reason, she seemed subtly more real than the others. "It's children who never quite realize that adults were once children themselves."   
  
"True." He then noticed Haruka's father's eyes on him. "I'm sorry. Did you say something?"   
  
"I said, 'Try me.' " Hiroshi answered. "You might be surprised at what I'm willing to believe."   
  
"Yeah, that's what she said." Draco nodded towards the lady, only to find the position she had inhabited, empty. "Never mind, she already left. They usually do after a short time. Even shorter attention spans than us, I guess."   
  
"I resent that." The black-haired boy commented. "It's just that once you're dead, the immediate life of any particular human is not so interesting. It's far more fun to look at the big picture." He faded out.   
  
"Who?" Hiroshi asked, as Draco seemed to take on yet another of those frequent abstracted looks.   
  
"The ghosts." Draco replied. "Not like the ones at Hogwarts. They can't do much to the real world. My guess is they're people who were just too stubborn to leave. Either that, or they had some important reason they wished to stay." He looked thoughtful. "Some of them can manipulate energy--stop spells from being finished, or at least slow them down. Except, she seemed to be something more than a ghost. An angel, perhaps, to put a convenient name to the concept."  
  
"She?"   
  
"The one who helped me escape. I think I know who she is, but I'm not certain." He shrugged. "Then I happened to meet a friend of a friend of Hotaru's, who helped me to convince Hotaru's friend to let me hitch a ride to Tokyo. Here, I just happened to run into someone who claimed she *was* Hotaru sometimes. Called herself Mistress 9, and had an extremely low opinion of Haruka and the others." He shrugged. "I didn't really like her attitude, but through some whim she was willing to guide me here, so I accepted her aid."   
  
Hiroshi had grown very still at the mention of Mistress 9. "Draco. Are you absolutely sure that Mistress 9 was dead?"   
  
"Yeah. The corona is unmistakable, even though it is somewhat brighter on some ghosts than on others. Huh . . . you mean you believe me?"   
  
Hiroshi smiled. "Well, when there is no logical explanation, I tend to accept the illogical. Besides, how much of a stretch is it to believe in the common, everyday variety of ghost when I lived with a couple dozen vocal ones and countless less noticeable for most of seven years? I attended Hogwarts too, you know."   
  
Draco swung back and forth in silence. "True. I keep forgetting that. Is it for Haruka's sake that you lived as a Muggle?"   
  
Hiroshi shook his head. "I was born half and half, and raised as a Muggle. My mother never knew my father was a wizard until the invitation letter arrived when I was eleven. She took it fairly well, considering. But I've always been a Muggle to myself, just a Muggle that happens to know magic. So I've lived this way as much for my own sake as for Haruka's."   
  
Draco sighed. "What's it like?"   
  
"Not that different from the wizarding world, from what I've seen. There's good people and bad people and a great deal more indifferent people than either of the others. People grow up, fall in love, have children, die of old age--except for far too many that die before their time, from disease, violence, any number of things. There are dangerous jobs and safe jobs and boring jobs and interesting jobs. All that really differs is in how we accomplish the little things.   
  
"People are people, Draco. Muggle or wizard, deep down inside we're all alike. It's just that there are too many people who can't see that for the two worlds to ever reside together, with full knowledge of each other, peacefully. Wizards see Muggles as inferior because they can't do magic, and Muggles see magic as a thing of fairy-tales, a concept that is capable of solving all problems. Sadly, it doesn't. It only creates new ones."   
  
"Yeah. I mean, Muggles may not have the . . . _Avada Kedavra_, the Killing Curse . . . or the Imperius Curse . . . or the Cruciatus Curse . . . but they have guns and drugs and torture devices and various other things that will create the same effects, just with a bit more effort."   
  
"Draco. Those are the three Unforgiveable Curses. I didn't even realize their existence until sixth year. How do you know of them?" Hiroshi had turned incredibly intense as his gaze speared Draco.   
  
The blonde boy, however, did not see the adult's sudden change in manner, or even hear it in his voice, so wrapped up in himself he had become. Only the meaning of the words penetrated. "My father . . ." He shuddered. "The first time . . . I was five, I think. My nanny had slighted me in some way . . . ninety percent imagination and ten percent pure spitefulness, I'm sure, looking back.   
  
"He used the Cruciatus Curse on her 'to teach her a lesson'. Later that year, when she resigned, he killed her. At the time, I wanted so much for my father to be proud of me that I convinced myself that it had been the right thing to do. She had been only a Muggle, after all." He shook his head violently. "I was so . . . so awful. And I sometimes have nightmares, where I still am . . . and then I wake up and wonder if I really am awake, and how long it will be before I am once again immersed in that nightmare."   
  
"He never taught them to me as the 'Unforgiveable Curses'. To him, they were just another tool. He had me practice them on the servants, on the occasional rat or mouse that was found in the house . . . it so disappointed him that I never quite managed the _Avada Kedavra_." He had dropped out of the swing by now and knelt, shaking, in the sand. Yet, the flow of words did not stop. He didn't know if he was capable of stopping it.   
  
"By the time I turned eleven, I had the other two down pat. I could practically do them in my sleep. But that still wasn't enough for him. It was never enough for him. No matter how much I did, he always seemed to be able to see that, deep down inside, I'm not like him. My heart is far too soft, no matter how much I tried to harden it.   
  
"All I ever wanted . . . all I *ever* wanted! . . . was his approval. And no matter what I did, I never quite managed to gain it. I hated him for what he was doing to me, and convincing me to do to myself, but I loved him because he was my father, and he was all I had ever really known. Because I had lived the lie so long that I had begun to believe it myself--believe that his way was right.  
  
"So then I came to Hogwarts and acted the way I had taught myself to act. Acted in a way so as to hopefully make my father proud. I gained myself many new enemies and no new friends through my actions. Because that was the way I thought was right. And if they didn't feel the same, well, my father had always taught me that most other people were not worth knowing anyway.  
  
"And then, one morning on the roof, I met Haruka. Except I didn't recognize her and it was a beautiful morning with a beautiful sunrise and I didn't want to act like my usual self. She felt the same way, I guess, because she didn't needle me like she usually did. Perhaps it was just mutual shock at seeing each other, even if I didn't recognize her. But one thing she said then really stuck with me and made me think. She was talking about abuse, and she said, '. . . He constantly seemed to find something, anything . . . even the *smallest* things wrong with me. And my mother never even tried to stop him.' And that was me. I could never do anything right and my mother always took his side."   
  
Draco smiled, ironically. "I think that is when I finally realized that I will never be up to my father's standards. And that I hate him--truly *hate* him--for what he has done to me. I realized there are other people out there who are willing to see me for myself. That's the most precious gift Haruka gave me, for by seeing me as me, she enabled me to find myself. And now, even though she's gone, I have other friends. For the first time in my life, I am truly not alone anymore."   
  
He stood, unsteadily. "I'd like to say I had a similarly profound influence on easing her hurt. But I'm the wrong one to do that. Haruka . . . she always had Michiru to be her guide and her support, as she was to me."   
  
"Draco." Hiroshi came over and took him by his shoulders. "No one should have to go through what you survived. That you turned out as well as you have is an amazement to me, considering what you've been through. Who is your father? So he can never mistreat any other children, ever again."   
  
Draco leaned against the taller, adult form, drawing strength from Hiroshi's comforting presence. "It wouldn't do any good." He sighed, sorrow and fatigue warring in his voice. "No one would believe me--or you. Besides, I've cut myself off from him. I'd rather starve than be his son."   
  
Hiroshi put his arm around the blonde child and they began to walk back toward the house. "Draco, I promise you one thing above all others. Even . . . especially when Haruka returns home, I will never allow you to starve. I promise."   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
32. Christmas Break, Part IV: I Will Never Let You Go  
  
"Mama!" She shrieked, as she ran through the large house. "Mama, papa, where are you?"   
  
"Right here, Michi-chan." Her mother called from the kitchen, tolerantly. "What's got you so excited?"   
  
"I just got an owl. From Fred 'n George. They want to know if I can come to their house for Christmas Day. Oh, mama, can I? You can come too, they said that. Oh, and here's a letter for you from their parents, it came on the same owl."   
  
Sachiko read quickly through the letter; it was mostly just a reiteration of the invitation. "I don't see any reason why not. I take it you want to go?"   
  
"Yes!" Michiru wasted not even a moment's consideration. "I want to see them again. They're fun, mama. And they promised me they'd show me their dad's car the next time I get there, and I want to meet Charlie and Bill, and show off my new haircut to them. It was their idea after all, but I don't think they seriously believed I'd do it." She touched her hair, still slightly wavy but now far shorter, in a style reminiscent of Haruka's former haircut. "But really, it makes sense, if I'm going to be Phantom, which I really do want to be. I don't see why they thought I'd object."   
  
"A large number of girls would." Sachiko told her, ruffling her hair. "It's a matter of vanity for many girls, to have hair as long as possible. But as long as you're happy with it, I won't object to whatever you choose to do with your hair." She paused. "As long as it doesn't have to do with too much mousse or hair dye."   
  
Michiru shrugged. "I like my hair the way it is. Besides, half the kids at school seem to believe my hair is dyed anyway. What would be the point to actually dying it?"   
  
Sachiko laughed. "I hope you keep that attitude. Now, seeing as Christmas is day after tomorrow and I assume you want to get there ahead of time, shall we go pack?"   
  
Matters of hair and vanity fled Michiru's mind as she jumped up. "Yes!"   
  
* * *  
  
"Oneesan? Why are you so sad? You never used to be." The small brown-haired girl asked, hugging her older sister.  
  
"I don't have as many friends anymore." She replied. "I'm sad because I like having friends, and it hurts when even one of them abandons me."   
  
The brown-haired child considered this. "Then you shouldn't have friends, I think. That way, you'll never be hurt. But don't worry, Usagi-neesan. I'll always be your friend so you won't be lonely."   
  
"Thank you, Chiyoko. You know what? I'll always be your friend too. And Shingo's, if he wants to be my friend."   
  
Chiyoko's twin stuck his head through the partially opened door, showing he had most likely been listening all along. "Sure, why not. You're not too bad, as big sisters go." He made a show of considering. "Chiyo's better, though."   
  
Usagi picked up a pillow and let fly. "Of course she's better to you, dummy. She's your twin, after all."   
  
Shingo came further into the room, settling down on Usagi's other side. "C'mon, Usagi. Tell us about Hogwarts. Will we go there? What's it like?"   
  
Almost against her will, Usagi found that her mood was improving, with one arm around each of her two siblings, both of which genuinely wanted to know what was going on in her life. Had Shingo been like this, back when she had been eleven the first time? She didn't remember.   
  
But she smiled anyway, a real smile. "I'm sure you will come to Hogwarts if you want to, when you're old enough. Let's see. It's in England, and it's a big old castle that we reach from the train station by rowing across this deep lake. I've heard--" she lowered her voice conspiratorially "--that there's a sea monster of some sort that lives in the lake."   
  
The twins squealed with excitement. "More!" Shingo demanded.   
  
"Yes, tell us more." Chiyoko assented.   
  
With an ever-widening grin, Usagi complied.   
  
* * *  
  
She stood over him, tears in her eyes. "Why won't you wake up?!" Kneeling, she put her face in her hands. "Oh, Harry. It's not supposed to be like this. I'm supposed to be able to heal you with a wave of my hands, and then you should stand up and grin at me and assure me that of course everything's all right, silly. Not like this. Never like this."   
  
She looked at her hands, summoning up the pale lavender aura of healing and allowing it to coalesce around those same hands. "I can heal myself, can heal anyone and anything alive on this entire world . . . except you. Why won't you wake up, Harry? I need you. You're my friend, and I've never had enough friends."   
  
She smiled slightly. "I have one more now, though. Her name is Cho, and she's one of the other girls in my class. Yeah, I know, girls cooties ew! But I think you would like her if, like for me, you could just ignore the fact that she's a girl. No, she's not a powerful superheroine avatar of a planet, but she's pretty cool anyway. You have very similar senses of humor, and I don't think she really cares that you're *Harry* *Potter*. Sure, she knows, but it doesn't mean that much to her."   
  
"If only you could hear me speaking. If only you would wake up. If only . . . if *only* . . . I could heal you. But I can't."   
  
"I can't."   
  
* * *  
  
"So, you must be Michiru." Charlie commented with a grin. "I'm impressed. The twins have been talking about you almost nonstop since they got home. They're never this interested in anything--except, of course, their latest practical joke."   
  
Both younger boys blushed nearly as red as their hair. "Aw, c'mon Charlie." Fred pled halfheartedly. "You know that's not true. Besides, you're embarrassing her."   
  
"Why should I be embarrassed? You can ask my mom--she's heard quite an earful about you two. And then some." She stood on her toes and ruffled Fred's hair. "You've been such good friends to me, how could I not?"   
  
Bill strolled over and decided to get in on the fun. "I see that our little brothers have finally begun to discover girls. And here I thought the day would never arrive."   
  
"Typical, them going for younger women, though." Charlie agreed, and both grinned at each other and at the three red young people--Michiru was not blushing at least as deeply as Fred and George.   
  
"It's not like that!" All three protested in unison.   
  
"Besides." Michiru added offhandedly, "I couldn't possibly be interested in them. I already have someone."   
  
The twins turned to her. "Who?" "Is it anyone we know?"   
  
"Is it . . .?" She paused, a confused look on her face "It is . . ." She stopped. "I . . . I can't remember. I know there's someone . . . someone for me. I know it, deep within my being."   
  
"But . . . why can't I remember who?"  
  
* * *  
  
The message was both simple and incomprehensible. Just a single line written in stone in the middle of a clearing they had camped in overnight, a stone that had not been there the previous 'evening'.   
  
'If you want to return home, go back to the Gates. They will soon be rebuilt.'  
  
"From Pluto, obviously." Setsuna finally said.   
  
"But why didn't he talk to us in person, if he was willing to take the time and energy to make such an intricate creation? Stone takes effort to will into existence, and stone with such exact markings is exponentially harder." Melisande spoke from experience.   
  
Haruka hit on the answer that was acceptable to all three. "Simple. He's smart enough. He would have known that if he dared to show his face in person, we would have teamed up and kicked his rear." Haruka shared a grin with Setsuna, as her bond partner picked up on her mental imagery.   
  
"With gratuitous appearances of the World Shaking and Dead Scream, of course." Setsuna added, eyes twinkling. "It will give me a good excuse to adjust my Dead Scream to the lack of the Time Staff. Im sure I can still do it or something similar." She added with only slightly forced cheer.   
  
Melisande made a show of considering. "You know? I think that, from his point of view, he made the wiser choice."   
  
* * *  
  
Saturn laughed. Under Pluto's disgruntled gaze, she literally rolled on the floor with laughter. "They've got you pegged." She gasped out.   
  
"It's not funny." Pluto grumbled. Saturn continued to laugh. "It's not funny!" He added more forcefully.  
  
Uranus appeared and took one look at the scene before she began chuckling as well. "Sorry to disappoint you, Pluto, but I'm afraid I'll have to overrule you. It is funny, extremely so."   
  
Pluto just continued to grumble. "So, now that I've informed them, when will the Gate be rebuilt? I'm getting tired of that pile of rubble."   
  
"Soon." Saturn said with authority. Though the occasion was an exciting and long-anticipated one, her eyes were sad.  
  
* * *  
  
The doorbell rang. Both got up from the table, Draco gulping down the last of his orange juice as he did so. "I'll get it." Hiroshi stated, and Draco nodded, sitting back down. Once Hiroshi left the room, Draco stood back up and followed him into the hall, silently. Perhaps he was overreacting. He didn't know how many friends Haruka's father had, that could come over without any previous warning. But none of them--if, indeed, there were any--had come in the last few days. So he was worried that this person at the door would be something other than a friend.   
  
He stood at the stairway, around the corner from the front hall--so that he would not be seen--yet close enough to where he could peek around the banister to see who it was. If he didn't first recognize the voice.   
  
The door opened with a bit of a squeak--one of the things Haruka's father had sworn he would work on, but never quite got around to. And then his voice, saying one of the last things he would have *ever* expected the mild-mannered man to say. And, curiously enough, in English. "You. What the hell are you doing here?"   
  
He knew the word, of course--Lucius had made sure that he knew all the curse words and what they meant, just taught him to refrain from using them. The only thing he admired about the man.   
  
In his shock, he almost missed the reply. "Now, now. Is that any way to treat an old friend?" The suave, cool voice . . . no one else had that voice. It could not possibly be anything else. Still . . . he couldn't believe that Haruka's father--this nice man, not the one out of his angel's nightmares who haunted her, he thought, even now--would have ever been willing even to associate with Lucius Malfoy, much less be friends.   
  
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Haruka's father asked flatly.   
  
"Oh," Lucius drawled. "I believe you possess something of mine, so I've come to collect him."   
  
That was going too far. Draco knew the prudent thing to do would be to remain on the stairs--or better yet, go hide beneath one of the beds. But he couldn't stand it. He stepped off the stairs and around Haruka's father, coming face to face with Lucius once more, silvery eyes cold as ice. "I am not your possession. You may have sired me, but you are not my father. I disowned you before, and now I disown you before a witness. You are not now, nor will you ever again be any relation of mine."   
  
"Before a witness? I can take care of that." Lucius turned to Hiroshi and a gloating smile spread across his face. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." He raised a wand formerly hidden in the folds of his cloak. "_Avada_--"  
  
There was only a split second in which to act. In which to make his decision. Yet, when it came down to it, it really was no decision at all. Hotaru would miss him . . . and Harry, if he ever woke up . . . and Haruka, he liked to think, wherever she was . . . but they'd understand. Harry, perhaps, most of all, as he carried to this day the mark of someone else's intercession with his fate. Arms spread wide, he threw himself in front of Hiroshi, and opened himself to a power he had never before realized even existed. "NOOOOO!!!!"  
  
* * *  
  
In a blinding flash of light that sucked away all the energy that had gathered for the Killing Curse, Draco disappeared. As Lucius Malfoy stared, Hiroshi acted. He was used to flashy magic of the sort used by the senshi--and this disappearing act had 'senshi' written all over it. All he wondered was which. He borrowed a trick from his daughter and pulled his wand from a small subspace pocket, pointing it directly at Lucius Malfoy. "_Obliviate!_"   
  
The man blinked. "You there. Where am I?"   
  
Hiroshi made a great show of blinking with complete incomprehension. Lucius gritted his teeth and repeated, far slower and with greater volume. "Where. Am. I?"   
  
"I'm sorry." Hiroshi said solemnly in Japanese, letting none of the amusement he felt at the other man's plight show through. Did Lucius know any Japanese? "I speak no English."   
  
Lucius threw his hands up in disgust. "Oh, forget about it!" And stalked out. No longer buoyed by the admittedly funny sight of a clueless and off-guard Lucius Malfoy, Hiroshi sunk slowly to his knees.   
  
His daughter. Draco. Both he had loved so very deeply, despite the comparatively short amount of time the latter had spent with him. And now, both of them were gone.   
  
He only hoped that, someday, they would return.   
  
* * *  
  
He lay flat on the solid ground. Slowly, his eyes opened, as someone knelt down beside him. "You're awake." She said softly. "I'm glad. I was so afraid we had lost you."   
  
"Who . . . who are you? Where am I?" He asked slowly. Even thinking took considerable effort, like his thoughts had to swim through molasses. His eyes opened further as he sat up slowly and took a closer look at his companion. She had long hair a very dark violet and deep black eyes. He knew there was something very familiar about her, but he couldn't quite place it, until he finally realized--she looked and sounded and even acted almost like Hotaru's twin. So, just to hazard a guess, "Saturn?"  
  
She smiled. "Smart kid. Yes, I'm Saturn. As for where you are--this is where the Gate of Time used to reside. Here, you are outside both time and space."   
  
"Why am I here?" He asked, as he began to recover at least some of his former mental acuity. And with that, came his memory. Lucius returning, drawing the wand . . . that awful green aura . . . then, nothing.   
  
Then, waking up here.   
  
"You are here because you finally learned to draw upon the power of time. You used it to slow time almost to a stop, before the power took control and deposited you here." Saturn sat down from her formerly kneeling position. "The power of time . . . is not an easy thing to control. The only one who can manage it is the Guardian of Time, because she--or, in your case, he--can use the stabilizing influence of the Time Staff."   
  
"You are saying that *I* am Guardian of Time? But isn't that position already filled?"   
  
"Yes and no." A man walked up and sat down as well, brushing fine burgundy hair out of his emerald eyes. "It was filled . . . but the former Guardian of Time could no longer handle the position. Time was no longer willing to remain under her guiding hands. And when she gave up the position--" he waved a hand at the pile of rubble near where the three sat "--this happened. This used to be the Gate of Time, used to transport people to different eras and even different dimensions. Its use is, for the most part, prohibited, yet it can also be used as a looking-glass of sorts, to merely view the concrete past or even possible futures."  
  
Looking from one to the other, Draco saw both were in complete earnest. They actually thought that he . . . "But . . . why me? Surely there is someone better?"  
  
Saturn smiled and took his face in her hands, softly kissing his forehead. A familial kiss, warm . . . he felt himself bathed in power. "That you even considered asking that question is proof enough to me. I declare you worthy." She paused, then smiled again, shyly. "Welcome back, little brother."   
  
The man did likewise, another feathery-soft kiss, more power . . . but of a different taste. If Saturn had been purple, the man was more red . . . deep red, like burgundy or garnet. Pluto. His name was Pluto. "Your unselfish willingness to sacrifice your life for another is proof enough to me. I declare you worthy."   
  
A golden-eyed girl with deep navy hair walked up out of the mists and she, too, gently kissed his forehead. Uranus. He knew, somehow, that her name was Uranus. "Your friendship with my avatar is proof enough for me. I declare you worthy." Then, softer, "And please, don't ever lose that precious friendship. It means at least as much to her as it does to you."   
  
"We three declare this young man, Draco, worthy of assuming the role of the new Guardian of Time. Are there any objections?" Pluto asked into the silence.  
  
Through the mist, he could barely make out other humanoid shapes. Seven, he thought. No features were visible, except in one case. The blue and green-haired ghost smiled at him as her features became sharp and visible for a moment. He could've sworn she had also winked.   
  
Pluto turned to him. "Draco, are you willing to assume this responsibility? We will not force it upon you . . . but know that, in this case, you are truly the best person for the job."   
  
As Draco looked into Pluto's eyes, it seemed that he looked into the ages, into everything that had ever passed in the history of the universe, and perhaps a hint of what might yet come to pass. He turned to Saturn and to Uranus, and saw something of the same, though diluted. But in all their eyes he seemed to sense what he had been looking for. They truly believed that he could do this.   
  
And if they were willing to believe, then he was willing to try. "I will."   
  
Pluto handed him a silver staff, carved to resemble a key of some sort. On the top, a heart-shaped design rested, and in its center a large garnet-colored orb. As he touched it, the staff shimmered for a moment. Gone was the garnet orb, and in its place a large orb the color of the purest of emeralds, an orb that seemed to glow with its own inner power.   
  
Uranus hugged him. "Good luck." She disappeared.   
  
With a nod of approval, Pluto disappeared as wall, as did all those other nameless, formless presences. Now, only Saturn remained. She smiled. "Just wait a little longer, little brother. A very good surprise, I think, is coming your way." With that cryptic advice, she disappeared and Draco was left alone with his emerald-tipped staff.   
  
Then it happened. He heard her voice first and, unconsciously, reacted with the control of the mists that was now his right, sweeping them out of the way with only a gesture and a thought.   
  
And, indeed, it was her. At first, he didn't recognize her, so grown-up did she seem. But then, his angel had nearly always appeared this age. Looking up from her conversation she seemed to catch sight of him for the first time and instantly reverted to eleven. To the visage he had come to dislike so greatly and, in retrospect, cherish far more than he had ever disliked her.   
  
Abandoning all thoughts of dignity, he dashed through the path cleared temporarily of mists, hugging her with a fierce strength. "Draco?" She asked softly, as if afraid to believe the evidence provided by her own eyes. "Is that you? Is it really you?"   
  
"Haruka." He whispered. "I've missed you so much . . . so very much." He choked up and could no longer do anything but hold on as if he would never let her go. "You'll never know . . ." his voice cracked, "just exactly how much I missed you. And I never forgot."   
  
Through a haze, he felt her arms encompass him as she began to hug him back. Taller than he, she rested her cheek against his head. "I think I know." She whispered back. "You see . . . even not knowing whether or not you'd ever be willing to speak to me again . . . I missed you ever so much myself. So much." He could hear the reluctant smile in her voice as she continued, "But now, we're together again. And soon, we'll all be back where we belong . . . and everything will be fine."   
  
Draco did not reply, contenting himself with drawing warmth from the haven of his beloved friend's arms. With a single, all-encompassing thought.   
  
_. . . and I will never let you go.  
_  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_  
_33. Christmas Break, Part V: Homecoming  
  
In the depths of the night, with no lights on and only the pale sliver of the moon providing light to the room, she sat and watched over her friend. As she watched, she quietly directed a small portion of her magic's flow towards flushing her body of the toxins that built up over the day, a process accomplished more normally by sleep. But she couldn't allow herself the luxury of sleep, now that she knew she could do without it.   
  
She knew that her mind needed the downtime provided by sleep too, that going for this long without sleep was bad for her mental processes even if it did not aversely affect her body. But a week or so more . . . just until Draco got back. Until there was someone else she could trust to stand guard over her comatose friend's body.   
  
The door creaked, ever so softly. One of the aspects to living in such an old place, she had found--sometimes a blessing, more often a curse. She reached and found her glaive and stood silently, waiting for whoever might appear.   
  
The shape was thin, and somewhat stooped. It walked in through the door, one foot, two . . . and paused. A flash of light illuminated his face, and she relaxed from high alert. It was only one of the teachers . . . Professor Quirrell. Defense Against Dark Arts. Still, something about him and especially about his presence, here, now, put her on edge.   
  
The figure reached into his cloak, bringing out a wand, and her eyes widened. Him . . . ? She moved around to the door before speaking, first pressing a button on her watch/communicator. She had been afraid she would end up confronting whoever wanted to kill Harry . . . and she wanted to have a vocal record to support whatever happened afterward. "What are you planning on doing to Harry, Quirrell?"   
  
The dark shape whirled. "Who are you?" The wand now pointed directly at her. "What are you doing here?" Strangely, the voice held none of the tremulousness of Quirrell's ordinary voice. It held an entirely different tone . . . a cold, purposeful, relentless tone.   
  
"I am the Bringer of Silence. What are you planning on doing to Harry, Quirrell?" She lowered the temperature of her own voice, and her eyes speared Quirrell through the dark. Somehow, she had the idea that he recognized her gaze and was shaken by it.  
  
"Why . . . why kill him of course." He said, sounding a bit rattled.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Well, because the Master has ordered me to, of course." He answered. "Why am I telling you this?"   
  
"Who is your master?"   
  
_"Who is this girl? This impertinent little girl . . . who is she?"_ The new voice, a whispery hiss, sent chills up her spine. Was this Him? Was this Voldemort?   
  
Suddenly, Quirrell sounded frightened. "I-I don't know, M-master. Wh-what sh-should I do t-to her? C-could she b-be the cause of m-my p-previous failures?"   
  
The voice sounded somewhat impatient now, although the last idea clearly had him thoughtful. _"Most likely. Most likely, as she seems to be overly concerned with the Potter boy's life. As to what to do to her . . . even you're not that much of a moron, Quirrell. She knows too much now. You must kill her, of course."_   
  
Saturn shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Voldemort, Quirrell, nor can I let you kill Harry." Regretfully, she raised her glaive. She had never killed in cold blood before, not that she could remember . . . but she could not allow him to continue to run free. "Your end is now."   
  
One slice, and the deed was done. For a moment, through the darkness she thought she saw a deeper darkness escape. But she could have been mistaken. She let the now-bloodstained glaive fall back into subspace and for a while just stood, in silence, above the body. She would start feeling sick when the import of what she had just done--killed a fellow human being--sank in. She would take the audio recording to Dumbledore, to explain the dead body on the floor in front of Harry's bed. She would go to whichever of the hospital staff were still up and get them to get rid of the body. Later.   
  
Later.  
  
* * *  
  
Albus Dumbledore did not believe in excessive amounts of sleep. Still, looking up at the clock, he had about decided it was about time to call it a night.   
  
As the clock struck midnight, the door to his office opened and he looked up in surprise. The girl who entered was very petite and couldn't be much older than second-year at most, yet he couldn't for the life of him put a name to her face. And that was disturbing . . . he knew by sight every one of the students in this school; one of the reasons he had originally been given the position of headmaster was his phenomenal memory for names and faces.   
  
She had short dark hair and large violet eyes that seemed too large in her pale face. Her simple knee-length dress--how strange to see someone wearing something not a robe!--was a deep violet several shades deeper than her eyes, and a sash around her waist the darkest possible shade of black. She glided forward without a sound and placed something on his desk. An audio tape, of the sort used by Muggles.   
  
"What's this?" He asked.   
  
"A . . . conversation. One that ended in Professor Quirrell meeting his fate." She regarded him quietly. "He was possessed by Voldemort, you know."   
  
Dumbledore shook his head, arresting the movement moments too late. "How did you know?" He paused, then added for good measure, "Who are you?"  
  
In answer to the first question, she made a small gesture toward the audio tape. "It was . . . rather obvious, I think, considering the conversation." She seemed to give far more careful consideration to the second question. "I am . . . a guardian of sorts. At times. Quirrell picked the wrong child to mess with. Any at all, but especially that one. As a consequence, he met me in my aspect as Lady of Death." Then her wings appeared, those wings of light-devouring black that made it very easy to believe her claim to be Death.  
  
She nodded very slightly and stepped backwards out the door. When he rushed to the door after her disappearance, there was no one there. Thoughtful, he returned to his desk and picked up the audio tape. Opening a desk drawer usually left closed, he brought out an old tape player. Antique by modern standards perhaps, but it worked well enough.   
  
As the tape played and the short conversation repeated itself echoing about the cluttered office, he shook his head. How could he not have known?   
  
And how had she known?  
  
* * *  
  
From behind the rebuilt Gate, two friends watched the scene silently. "That's sweet." Galaxia finally commented, with a smile. "It's nice to see her happy."   
  
"And, furthermore, they can go home now." Cosmos added quietly. "With the length of time they most likely have spent up here--probably ever since the Gate crumbled--it is doubtful that anyone remembers them. Or will, until they return to the Earth Realm." She stood. "We should be going, preferably before we have to go to the new Guardian to secure our passage. Although it's an encouraging sign that he was chosen as Guardian, I don't know him, and I prefer to deal with the people I know."   
  
Galaxia stood as well. "But how can we do this? Don't we need him to open the Gate?"   
  
Cosmos shook her head. "Actually, no, we shouldn't have to. I told you, didn't I, that all the others died?" Galaxia nodded silently. "When they died, knowing that I would live on no matter how much I wanted to end it all, they passed their powers on to me. So I should still have some limited connection to the Gates. It will be enough."   
  
Checking again, seeing that no one was looking toward the Gate, they walked around to the front side and Cosmos put her hand against the Gate. She glowed a pale burgundy as she accessed the powers her Pluto had granted to her. The Gate opened.  
  
* * *  
  
"So then I ran off and got lost in the garden and my mom sent all the senshi out to search for me." Chibiusa and Lindsey were laying across one large bed--Haruka's--and chatting. "Of course, Venus is the one who finally found me--my Venus never quite grew up, so she was best at anticipating what a nine hundred-year-old who looked and acted six would do. Boy, was my mother mad."   
  
"Really? Venus found you? I would have thought Pluto would have been the most likely--she seems like the senshi you were closest to."   
  
Chibiusa's hand went to her neck, where she still wore the time key that no longer worked on a chain. "She might have known, but back then, she couldn't leave the Time Gates. It was part of her duty--to never at any time leave. I still don't quite understand why those restrictions were eased when she was reborn, but I'm glad they were."   
  
Under her fingers, she felt the time key . . . shimmer. That was the only word for it, suddenly becoming insubstantial and then reversing back to comforting solidity, but lighter than before. She brought it out, curious, to find that the tiny jewel at the head of the key had regained its glimmer--but it was no longer garnet. Instead, the tiny jewel was a beautiful, deep emerald green.   
  
And Chibiusa knew that something had happened, something terribly important. Though she was afraid to hope, she couldn't help but think . . . that maybe it meant Puu and Haruka were coming home soon.   
  
* * *  
  
They stood on the doorstep, Draco and Haruka. Setsuna had elected to return to Hogwarts, and Melisande had said she'd stay with Setsuna for now. Draco would stay with Haruka, and he knew that she could be in instant contact with Setsuna at any time, if necessary. Haruka raised her hand to knock, paused, then lowered it. "I . . . I can't." She turned. "I can't do this. It still looks like that house. I know my father is different, but . . . I just can't."   
  
Draco grabbed her hand and smiled sympathetically. "I know what you mean. But that doesn't mean I'll let you get out of meeting your father. He misses you, Haruka, horribly. I don't think a single day goes by when he doesn't think about you, wonder where you are and if you're doing all right. You owe it to him to let him know you're okay, even if you never see him again."   
  
Haruka shook her head. "I can't remember my Uncle Hiroshi very well--I was only six when he died, after all--but I loved him dreadfully. But I just can't knock on this door . . . because I'm so afraid, I guess, that if I do my *real* father will show up."   
  
Draco took her face in his hands. "Haruka, you have to realize. He *is* your real father now." He turned and knocked on the door. "Now don't you dare run off."  
  
The door remained shut, and Draco frowned. "I thought I knocked loudly enough." He sighed. "Maybe he's not there."  
  
Haruka surprised him by kneeling and peeling up the floor mat. From underneath, she picked up a small key--a door key--and smiled. "I thought I remembered that being where he used to put it." With only the slightest of hesitation, she stuck the key into the lock and turned it. A quiet click indicated that the door was now unlocked.   
  
Draco took Haruka's hand again and squeezed it for reassurance, as he opened the door. A gentle tug stopped him though, as Haruka paused on the the threshold and closed her eyes. Then with a gentle smile, she reopened them and drew a deep breath. "Tadaima!" She called, in a voice that reverberated throughout the house, then sighed, her face pensive but her eyes happy. "As unbelievable as it may seem . . . I think I actually am. Home."   
  
"Draco?" A soft voice asked incredulously, as Hiroshi walked around the corner hidden by the stairs. "Haruka?! Is it really you? I'm not dreaming again?"   
  
Draco released Haruka's hand as the girl dashed and threw herself in her beloved uncle's--now her father's--arms. He answered Hiroshi's question with what probably all three of them were thinking--he knew he was. "If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up."   
  
Looking up in Draco's direction from the enormous hug she was currently engaged in giving her father, Haruka giggled quietly. "I've been feeling like that practically ever since that final battle. Well, not at first, perhaps . . . but this world is so much better."  
  
"Battle?" Draco asked, instantly on alert. "Haruka, what exactly do you senshi do? I know Saturn can heal and that she has a huge, dangerous-looking glaive and that she can utterly destroy the world. But she refused to tell me what her powers were for or how she had used them after you were reborn into this time. She said that was your story to tell."   
  
"So you got to know Hotaru, too?" Haruka smiled. "I'm glad. I was afraid you'd be lonely with no one sympathetic to talk to." She sighed. "But I can understand her not wanting to tell the story. It is a long one, and sordid. But you're one of us now; you deserve even more than before to know the truth. The whole truth."   
  
* * *  
  
"It's all over the school, did you hear?" Cho came bouncing in, completely uncaring of the comatose boy in the bed. He wouldn't wake for anything, and even if he did . . . that would be a first and counted as a benefit, not a consequence. "Professor Quirrell's dead. He was possessed by Voldemort and he kept trying to kill Harry and then last night Death killed him."   
  
"Hn." Hotaru continued her vain attempt to polish the bloodstains off her blade. For some reason, they just wouldn't come out. "That's nice."  
  
"Do you want to come with me to the library so we can research more for our project? Now that Harry is no longer in any danger?" Cho asked hopefully.   
  
Hotaru looked up, eyes unreadable. "Just because Quirrell is dead, do not assume Voldemort is. He possessed Quirrell. He could just as easily go on to possess anyone else who was willing to accept his presence. Also, never assume Voldemort is the only danger out there. I will not stop guarding him until after he wakes up and is able to look after himself again."   
  
Cho sighed. "I suppose I knew you'd say that. And I suppose I felt you were right, too. Somehow, the atmosphere has not relaxed at all, as it would have if he truly were gone for good. I get the feeling that this war is far from over."   
  
Hotaru smiled ironically. "You could not know, Cho, just exactly how right you are." _Chaos. This time, we will not die. And you will never stand up against our combined power._ She bent her head back down over her glaive and continued to polish. She thought she saw a lessening in the stain, but it was so slight, and she had been polishing so long, that it may have been a product of her overactive imagination.   
  
Then, suddenly, she looked up. She may not be the new Guardian of Time--and boy, was she glad! More responsibility she did not need--but her ascension to Eternal Sailor Saturn had given her a small ability to sense major temporal shifts. And a major shift, this certainly was. She stood abruptly, unconscious of Cho's widening eyes as the bloodstained glaive was revealed fully.   
  
A long, vertical slit opened at the foot of the bed, and Hotaru slid one foot back to position herself in a more balanced fashion, point of the glaive aimed straight at the vertical slit. As the slit widened and two people stepped out, her glaive dropped from slack fingers, disappearing before it hit the floor.   
  
The first of the two was completely unknown to her. And with her long, silky silver hair and eyes that were almost exactly the same shade as Hotaru's own, she was surely someone Hotaru would have remembered. But that was not why she had dropped her glaive. No, that had been because of the other person.   
  
Forest-green hair, about half tied up in a bun at the top of her head and the rest left free. Dark red eyes, on the border between garnet and burgundy, shadowed by not-quite forgotten pain but twinkling with a heart-wrenchingly familiar amused expression. It could only be one person.   
  
Hotaru threw herself across the room, caring not for what either Cho or the mysterious silver-haired girl thought. "Setsuna!"   
  
And, surrounded by her former foster mother's arms, despite her pessimistic predictions to Cho only minutes before, she couldn't help but believe that everything was finally right with the world.   
  
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
34. Christmas Break, Part VI: Reunion  
  
"Are you sure you want to come with me?" Haruka asked Draco and her father, a worried expression on her face. "I'll vouch for you as best as I can, but face it. We're all three Slytherin, going into a den of Gryffindor." She gnawed absently at a thumbnail. "Heck, I'm not even entirely sure of my welcome. Michiru should vouch for me . . . but if she's hanging around with the Weasleys, she's changed."  
  
Draco shook his head. "She may have forgotten you . . . but she never stopped loving you. I should know, seeing her wandering around sometimes, an utterly lost look on her face . . . absently twisting her ring . . ." he looked pointedly down at the identical ring adorning Haruka's finger. "Of all the things in your life you have to worry about, her love for you is most definitely not one of them."   
  
Haruka smiled softly. "Yeah . . . I don't know what I was thinking, doubting our love even for a moment. I know I'll love Michiru for forever and a day . . . and whatever has happened to her since the last time I saw her, she'll still be the Michiru I love. I should have as much faith in her as I have in myself."   
  
She drew in a deep breath, walked over, and knocked firmly on the door. There was a muffled yell of "Coming!" from behind the door, several seconds before it was actually opened by Ron Weasley. The redhead that was actually in their year, Haruka remembered. He blinked. "Uh . . . hello? May I help you?"   
  
From deeper within the house came a shout. "Ron, don't be rude! Invite them in, whoever they are." His mother, Haruka would lay a rather large wager.  
  
The red-haired boy shrugged. "Okay. Come on . . . what are *you* doing here?!" He exclaimed in astonishment and disgust, catching sight of Draco. "Go away. You're not welcome here."   
  
"I'm sorry that you are unable to welcome my brother." In fact, she was not sorry at all. She was boiling mad. Couldn't anyone see Draco instead of Malfoy? Was the whole world blind? And he was her brother now, in truth. Her father had actually started arranging it a couple of days after Draco arrived, once he found out what sort of life Draco had to return to. But just as he had been about to raise the subject, Draco disappeared. Then, when they both reappeared, Haruka had showered her enthusiastic approval as soon as the subject had been broached.   
  
"We'll be leaving, then." She stated flatly.   
  
* * *  
  
"What should we--"  
  
"--do? I don't know. Do you have any idea why--"  
  
"--she fainted so suddenly? Not a--"  
  
"--clue. Yeah, me neither."   
  
The twin redheads kneeled beside their friend, who they had moved to the couch when she fainted so suddenly, out of the blue.   
  
Fred's face brightened. "She was trying to remember something, remember? Maybe that's what caused it?"   
  
George nodded, a similar smile growing on his face. "That makes sense. If she suddenly did remember, the shock might be enough to make her faint. You think? But what did she remember?"   
  
"Dunno. Have to ask her when she wakes up."   
  
A knock sounded at the door, and the twins exchanged glances. They certainly weren't expecting any other guests. Who could it be? They paid no more attention to the knock as soon as Ron yelled "Coming!" That was an indication in their family that that person would be the one to answer the door, so there was no need for anyone else to bother themselves to get up.  
  
As if the knock or perhaps the call was a signal, their friend's eyes fluttered open. She licked her lips, and the twins were worried by the depth of bewildered sorrow hidden in her eyes. ". . . Haruka . . ." she whispered, at the threshold of audibility, and tears sprang to her eyes.  
  
"What's wrong, Michiru?" Fred asked. "Don't cry. Please don't cry. Whatever the problem is, I'll help you." George nodded frantically to every one of his twin's words. Though he never would have thought to say those words, he certainly agreed with them.   
  
"There's nothing you can do to help." She sighed, then managed to summon up a small, watery smile. "Thank you for the thought, though. But it is entirely my fault." She shook her head, and the momentary light in her eyes died out again as she buried her face in her hands. "Haruka . . . I can't believe I forgot you . . ."  
  
_Haruka_. The twins looked at each other. Slowly, memory began to return. The short blonde girl with a somewhat masculine cast to her features--and most definitely to her attitude!--at times. She and Michiru had been practically inseparable at first. The two that had outsung them that first day of school.   
  
". . . we forgot too." George said, astonished. "I can't believe it."   
  
"How could we have forgotten?" Fred shook his head. "I mean, sure, we never had that much contact with her, but she was never the type to blend in with the crowd. Very noticeable."   
  
Michiru giggled. "Noticeable, Haruka certainly is. I can't imagine her ever just blending into the crowd."   
  
That topic dealt sufficiently with, their conversation slowed to a natural stop. So it was that they heard, quite clearly, the conversation at the door. "We'll be leaving then." A voice that went unrecognized to Fred and George, never having been around her enough when she was speaking. To Michiru, though, the voice was as familiar as her own.   
  
She shot straight up off the couch and hit the floor running toward the hall. "Haruka! Wait!"   
  
* * *  
  
She had been about to make good on her threat and leave, had in fact already turned around to go, when she heard the voice. The heartbreakingly familiar voice that she held always close to her heart. She whipped back around so quickly that her ponytail continued to fly on around after she stopped and ended up smacking her in the face. She was pulling the hair out of her face with one hand when an aqua-haired blur came flying into her, knocking her to the ground.   
  
"Michiru."   
  
"Haruka."   
  
Her eyes traced out every beloved feature of her beloved's face, and she knew that Michiru was doing the same. She reached up, tentatively, to wipe a tear from the other girl's eye and Michiru gasped, almost, and brought her hand up to first tentatively touch, the firmly grasp Haruka's hand. "Oh, Michiru. I'm so sorry I couldn't come home sooner." They slowly sat up, but at no time increased the distance between each other or let go of each others' hands.  
  
Michiru nodded, slowly, her eyes bleak. "I'm sorry . . . I . . . I couldn't even remember you. I meant to, I knew there was something my heart was missing . . . but I couldn't remember you."   
  
Haruka tucked a short wisp of hair behind her beloved's ear, idly wondering when she cut it. "Not your fault, Michiru. Believe me, it's not your fault. We were trapped at the Gates of Time . . . it's amazing that anyone remembered. We were told that no one would."   
  
Michiru shook her head. "But if anyone remembered, it should have been me. I should have remembered."  
  
Haruka shook her head, laughed a little. "Oh, Michiru. I don't deserve someone like you. You're going to continue to insist something you had no control over was all your fault, aren't you?"   
  
"Of course." Michiru said agreeably. "I've always been too stubborn for my own good. You don't deserve me, Haruka, you deserve someone much better. Someone nicer, who will nod agreeably even when she disagrees with you, who would never scold you for going out and leaving and driving around on your motorcycle--once you get one again--and never leaving any notice, leaving her to imagine your broken body at the bottom of a cliff somewhere, who would--"  
  
Haruka put her forefinger to Michiru's lips, a gentle smile on her face. She leaned in closer until their foreheads touched, their eyes only inches from each other. "But you know what?" She whispered. "I could never love a person like that. Because she wouldn't be you."  
  
* * *  
  
". . . And that's about it." Hotaru finished explaining the current situation to Setsuna and the girl she had brought along, introduced as Melisande. Knowing that Cho already at least suspected, Setsuna as her former foster-mother deserved to know, and Melisande had no clue and wouldn't be biased either way, she left out none of Draco's part in the previous events. And was pleasantly surprised. It seemed that while they had been trapped, Haruka had put in a good word on Draco's behalf, so Setsuna's mind was already at least three-quarters changed.   
  
The green-haired girl shook her head. "Quirrell. I mean, I never really liked him . . . but that was because of his incompetence as a teacher more than anything else. I didn't suspect him of being . . . well, evil!"   
  
"He may not have always been." Surprisingly, it was Cho who interjected, then blushed as all eyes turned to her. "I mean, the story goes that he was possessed by Voldemort, right?" She continued in a somewhat more hesitant voice. "So we really can't tell what he was like before Voldemort possessed him."  
  
"A valid point." Hotaru nodded. To Setsuna, she added, "Look at Galaxia, after all."   
  
"That comparison had occurred to me." Setsuna said dryly. "I would hope, however, that Voldemort is not nearly as powerful as Chaos." At Cho's barely suppressed gasp, she rolled her eyes. "Excuse me. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."  
  
"I doubt it." Hotaru said shortly. "Chaos' influence, at least, was a *great* deal more widespread, after all, with ours the only planet left in the galaxy that he had no control over. Compared to that, Voldemort didn't even manage to take over an entire planet. His power is certainly nothing to laugh at--one should never laugh at people that deceitful and willing to destroy anything that gets in their way, especially not people as popular as he seems to have been. His followers weren't *all* bad people, after all."   
  
Setsuna nodded, then a small smile flashed, an ironic smile. "In other words, Voldemort was the Hitler of the wizarding world."  
  
Cho, from the look on her face, had clearly given up on being shocked at her friends' use of the forbidden name. Still, this last remark excited her curiosity. ". . . perhaps I'm being obtuse, but I didn't understand one of your references.   
  
"Who is Hitler?"  
  
* * *  
  
"You are invited to . . ." Yaten trailed off incredulously, holding out the letter that had been found on their doorstep that morning. Actually, three had been found, one addressed to each of them. "What the--"  
  
"Language." Her sisters reminded her, and she rolled her eyes.   
  
"I didn't *say* anything." She snapped, annoyed at having lost the chance.   
  
"But you meant to." Seiya informed her smugly.   
  
"Actually, you did say something." Taiki informed her. "A more distinct way of putting it would be to say, perhaps, that you did not curse. Or that you did not say any words that are regarded by this society as being inappropriate for people of our age and station to know, much less say. Or . . ."   
  
"I get the point." Yaten sighed. "Anyway, what are we going to do about it?"   
  
"If it is a fan letter, it certainly is . . . unique." Taiki admitted. "I admit to a certain feeling of curiosity as to this so-called 'School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'."   
  
"In other words, you want to go." Yaten interpreted, then shrugged. "Sure, why not? It can't possibly be any more banal than this gig." She waved her hand at their somewhat spacious apartment.  
  
"And if they are so into magic, perhaps our princess will have been drawn there." Seiya smiled. "There may be people there who have the power to defeat Galaxia for good."   
  
"So, we're decided?" Yaten asked.   
  
The other two nodded. "Okay. Hogwarts, here we come!"   
  
* * *  
  
The two faced off in uncomfortable silence. One with aqua hair, one blond. After an interminable length of time, the silence was finally broken. "I . . . apologize." Every word seemed to come hard to the aqua-haired girl, but a little easier as she continued. "I misjudged you."   
  
"Don't berate yourself too harshly." The blond replied. "You didn't . . . at first. You just neglected to take into account that everyone changes . . . and my changes were more drastic and quicker than most."   
  
The silence fell again, more comfortably. And again, it was broken by the aqua-haired girl. "I still don't like you, I'm afraid." She sounded rather regretful.   
  
The blond shrugged. "I don't mind. I'm used to being disliked . . . and frankly, I'm more comfortable with it from most people. I'm liked by the people that really matter to me . . . and to me, that's all that really matters." He nodded sharply. "But for Haruka's sake, I can get along with you."   
  
She nodded back, her posture softening a bit. "Yes. For Haruka's sake."   
  
* * *  
  
"You're back!" In his excitement, Snape shifted to his younger self. "Finally! What took you so long?"   
  
"We ended up having to wait until the Gates were rebuilt." Setsuna shifted to match him, almost unconsciously. "And that couldn't be done until a new Guardian was found. Evidently, too, the new Guardian had to go through some sort of experience that prepared him for the job. I don't know all the details."   
  
Snape nodded thoughtfully. "So, the new Guardian. Anyone I'm likely to know?"   
  
"Quite well, actually." The green-haired girl replied surprisingly. "Strangely enough, the best person for the job turned out to be Haruka's newest friend."   
  
"You don't mean Draco Malfoy?!" Snape blinked in shock. "He must be very different from how he was at the beginning of the year." Recalling his own early encounters with the blonde senshi of the wind, he smiled sourly. ". . . Then again, the same could be said for him making friends with Haruka in the first place." He looked around. "Speaking of Haruka, where is she?"   
  
Setsuna shrugged. "Draco was going to take her to meet her father. After that, I assume they plan on finding Michiru, but I don't know for sure."   
  
Snape laughed. "Yes, that sounds like Haruka. So she'll probably be back at the end of Christmas Break."   
  
"Probably." But then again, she was with Draco. And Draco could, through the Gate, bring them here easily in the blink of an eye if he put his mind to it. "Then again, knowing Haruka, who knows?"   
  
* * *  
  
"What?!"   
  
"They're back." Michiru replied in an admirably calm tone of voice in the face of my yell. "Or rather, they're here. For the first time."   
  
I froze, and I'm sure my face went absolutely pale. _Oh no. Not again._ "The first time." I licked suddenly dry lips. "Please tell me you don't mean what I think you mean."   
  
"They search for their princess. They formed the rock group The Three Lights. They seemed to have no idea of our existence." Michiru shrugged helplessly. "What other proof do you want? We have only a short period of time to prepare before it all begins again."   
  
_Again. What sort of rotten joke is this? We just barely survived the first time . . . *we* didn't survive at all . . . and we have to go through it all again?_ Looking into Michiru's eyes, I saw reflected the horror and sorrow that I felt sure resided in my eyes as well. "We won't interfere . . . the way we did last time. We know enough not to, now."   
  
My beloved nodded slowly. "I promised Usagi that, myself." She looked troubled. "Then, a couple days after break started, I got a note from Ami." She looked directly at me. "They forgot." She shook her head, and clarified. "With a spell, they forgot everything they remembered about the Starlights' civilian forms. They still remember the battles and the Starlights, but not the Three Lights."   
  
"So . . . it's all us now." I shook my head. "I can understand the temptation . . . to be able to make a clean start with them. They won't remember all that happened, all that we did to them . . . it would be nice if I couldn't remember either." At Michiru's querying look, I shook my head. "It would be nice, but . . . it wouldn't be right. Some of us have to remember them, so we can guide them . . . and as awful as everything turned out, I don't think I would willingly forget a moment of time spent with them."   
  
Michiru smiled lopsidedly. "That's almost exactly the way I feel. There were occasional good times, too. Besides . . . I figure it's only a matter of time before they come to Hogwarts."   
  
Hogwarts . . . Setsuna! I gasped. "Setsuna! Hotaru, you said, won't remember." Michiru nodded, her eyes widening as she caught on to my train of thought. "We have to warn her!"   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
35. Christmas Break, Part VII: Return  
  
"Ami! Bed time!" The shout startled the blue-haired girl out of the musing . . . almost trance she had fallen into, as she sat at her window watching the moon.   
  
"Right!" She called back guiltily. It took some getting used to, actually having to go to bed at a certain time *and* actually having her mother be home at that time. Although, it was true, she vaguely remembered having spent more time with her mother when she was younger. It was just the last couple of years in her 'other life' that her mother had been taking, it seemed at times, more than her fair share of the night shifts.   
  
She allowed herself a last few moments to bathe herself in the full moon's glow before turning away to follow her mother's injunction. Strange, though . . . the moon seemed unusually bright tonight.   
  
* * *  
  
All around her . . . nothing but mist. She knelt, touching her fingertips to the ground. Soft puffs of charcoal grey dust danced up briefly at the contact and she frowned slightly. Why did this seem so familiar?   
  
She looked up, as the ambient light began to grow. The mist was beginning to lift, she found, banished by the pure light of the Earth, hanging low in the sky. As she gazed upon the beautiful blue and green and white and brown orb, something clicked. That was where she was. The Moon.   
  
She turned around, finding the sight she had dreaded seeing, a sight that tore at her heart like few other memories from either lifetime. There it was, in the shadow of Mare Serenitatis, hidden in such away that even the best telescopes back on Earth couldn't find it, not in this broken down state. The entire mare had been an enormous garden city, once. And the palace had been placed in the shadow in hopes of gaining some protection from that little-seen position.   
  
The broken columns, the few lonely fragments of wall left standing . . . all that was left of a once beautiful palace, the most beautiful palace in the galaxy. And here . . . where she stood . . . had once been part of a large, long pool that always reflected the starlight and Earthlight. The pools seemed to have the effect of reflecting more beautifully than the reality. But they were dry now, cracked and devoid of the water, covered in rubble from other parts of the palace. Someday, she hoped to bring this place back to life. Then, water would pool and reflect starlight so beautifully once more. That was her dream.   
  
She wandered through the desolate area, stopping briefly here and there. Then she found it, the place she had first seen her mother. She sat down on the fallen column, now no more than a simple piece of stone, and a lone tear slipped down her face, testament to all that had been lost.   
  
As the tear fell, it began slowly to brighten until it shone with the light of the full moon on a clear night. And as she gazed, squinting, through the brightness, before her very eyes the palace was reborn. She dashed out of the room, through halls she remembered, now, to the ballroom. There were so many people there, wearing masks and dancing, talking and laughing joyously, though beneath the joy there ran a hint of discomfort, of fear. And over there, in the corner . . . her heart contracted. The man was as handsome as the girl was beautiful, him with dark hair and her with golden. Although she was too far away to see, she knew they both had deep cerulean eyes. She had gazed into those same eyes, and seen the other pair in the mirror, far too many times to count. She laughed lightly, and the observer shook her head. Had she ever really been that young, that naïve?  
  
"What are they doing here?" At the sound of her voice, the beautiful illusion shattered, leaving her standing once more, alone, beside the broken column upon which her mother had breathed her last breath.   
  
"They were summoned here by the strength of your wish for the palace to be whole once more. Or rather, their memory was summoned."   
  
She turned, and found herself strangely not at all surprised. "Mother. What are you doing here?"   
  
"I am here to give you a choice, one I myself was offered many years ago." The silvery-haired woman sat down on the broken column, motioned to her side. "Come, sit. Make yourself comfortable."   
  
"Why can't I transform?"   
  
Her mother shook her head. "Serenity, dear . . . you knew, in the beginning, that that form was only borrowed. Yet later, you seemed to forget, to believe you had gained it for good. But you were living on borrowed time. You spent the last of the power that transformation had granted you when you defeated your last enemy." She nodded. "That leads me to my point. The choice you have to make."   
  
Usagi sat on the ground, crosslegged. If she had sat on the column beside her mother, she would have been unable to see the other woman's face. This was all very confusing. "What is this choice?"  
  
"It is a choice that we, the avatars of the Moon, are the only ones to be offered, due to our unique position. You have reached the point in your development as a senshi where you are at a crossroads, so to speak.  
  
"You can choose to remain merely the avatar of the moon . . ." she paused, ". . . or you can become, essentially, the moon herself." She smiled slightly. "Either way, you will regain the ability to transform into any of your various transformations. Except Eternal Sailor Moon, although you will gain a new, permanent Eternal form either way.   
  
"If you choose to remain merely the avatar of the moon, you will lose your previous potential to become the moon and suffer a similar loss in power. Not drastic, but certainly significant. In the event of the Silver Millennium being resurrected, while you will be Queen of the Moon, it is quite unlikely that you will be queen of the entire solar system, as you will no longer be so significantly much more powerful than any of the other senshi--with the exception of Saturn, of course.  
  
"Whereas, if you choose to become the physical representation of the moon, you will fulfill that potential and your power will grow exponentially and more. As a result, your hair will change, as mine did, and you will become, effectively, immortal. It will be nearly impossible for you to die," she grinned wryly, "although, as you have no doubt figured out from my example, it is just barely possible."   
  
Usagi noticed, suddenly, a mirror that had appeared behind her mother. Her mother, catching her abstracted gaze, turned. "Ah, yes. What I looked like before I made my decision." She brushed her hand through her bangs and, in the mirror, a young woman with violet hair did the same. "It is a decision I have never particularly regretted."   
  
Queen Serenity shook her head. "But don't let my decision influence your own overly. There are advantages and drawbacks to both choices."   
  
Usagi gnawed at a nail. "Will that power be necessary, sometime soon in the future?"   
  
The queen shrugged. "Who knows? I may be a supernatural force, but I can't see any farther into the future than you can. My hunch is that it will probably be useful, as I'm sure there are other enemies out there, but if you don't have it, you'll find some other way to cope. Throughout history, whichever choice has been made, the queens of the moon have generally managed to survive somehow." She held out a shimmering ball of brilliantly white light. "It's time, Serenity. I have no other information or advice to impart. Make your choice."  
  
Usagi drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. _I have to believe in myself, to believe that I will make the right decision. That's my talent, after all, right? Ami has her intelligence, Mako-chan her strength, Rei her spiritual abilities and Minako her experience and the power of love.   
  
And I . . . I am the one that, despite all the evidence, always believes in the goodness that I know *must* be within every being. It makes me far too gullible, practically a sitting duck for betrayal . . . but it, if anything, is my true strength.   
  
And I believe . . . I *must* believe . . . that my heart will not lead me wrong. _  
  
"I choose . . ."  
  
* * *  
  
"So if I bond him as my Knight, he'll wake up?" Hotaru asked.   
  
Melisande nodded. "For one thing, you'll be able to heal him. Also, the Knight-Senshi bond allows a certain amount of mental contact, so you'll be able to get into his mind and help him deal with whatever problems he is experiencing there. Once he is healed physically and his emotional wounds, whatever they are, have been healed somewhat, he will almost certainly wake back up."   
  
"Good." An expectant silence descended, and Hotaru looked back and forth between Melisande, Setsuna, and Cho. "What?"  
  
"Well, aren't you going to do it?" Cho asked.   
  
"No." Hotaru shook her head. "I'll wait until Draco gets back. I promised him I'd let him know the moment Harry's condition changed in any way. I'm not about to change it myself without him being here." She brightened. "But I can call him." Then frowned. "But . . . it probably wouldn't be a good idea to make contact with him if his father is anywhere near. That man most definitely would not approve."   
  
Suddenly, her head shot up as she felt, again, that temporal twist in the air. She loosened her stance, ready to draw and strike with her glaive if necessary. The slit in reality opened again, and the first two people through made her eyes widen in astonishment and happiness. "Haruka, Michiru!" She laughed as she dashed forward to catch the two in a hug. "What are you two doing here?"   
  
"I just learned something that I need to pass on to Setsuna." Haruka assured her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I'm glad to see you too, little firefly." But although she smiled and pretended everything was alright, her eyes were worried.   
  
"I just came along for the ride." Michiru added, eyes dancing. She, too, kissed her former adopted daughter, but then the two of them went over to Setsuna and dragged her off into a corner.   
  
The slit in reality closed, and in front of it stood the third and last person. At first, she did not recognize him. His blonde hair had grown a bit longer than she was used to seeing it, and his outfit was entirely unlike the black robes she was used to seeing him in. Long navy blue pants and a navy blue long-sleeved shirt were covered by a dark forest green vest trimmed in gold. A tall silver staff, shaped like a stylized key. Finally, it was through the eyes that she recognized him. Those same, humble yet humorous silvery eyes that she had seen over this hospital bed many times as the three of them had talked. "Draco?"   
  
He smiled, just a bit, shyly. "Hi, Hotaru." He raised an eyebrow, and his small smile grew in force to become a decidedly evil grin. "Or should I say . . . Shin?"   
  
She gasped. "How?!"   
  
"I happened to meet a man named Jefferson Parker and his friend Jack. They mentioned you by description, but the description was vivid enough for me to draw the, it seems correct, conclusion."   
  
She cast her mind back to that day. "But . . . wasn't Jack the copilot? Oh, I'm so glad he's not dead after all."   
  
His smile grew sad, fell away slowly. "I never said that."   
  
"What's this?" Haruka asked with curiosity.   
  
Hotaru cast Draco an imploring glance. "Nothing." He said. "An inside joke."   
  
She narrowed her eyes. "While we're on things people haven't told other people, since when are you Guardian of Time?"   
  
"Oh, you know. The usual. Father tries to kill me, I escape, catch a plane--provided quite generously by your friend, I might add--find Haruka's house, meet her father, then accidentally draw on the temporal power provided by the Gates while trying to prevent my father from killing Haruka's . . ."   
  
Hotaru walked up until she was nose to nose with him. "And just why," she asked sweetly, "did you not call me for help?"   
  
Draco sweated. "Uh . . . I forgot?"  
  
* * *  
  
He floated, alone, in the void. At first, he had been scared and called out for someone, anyone, to help him. But no one ever came, and gradually he stopped calling. He began to pull the void in closer as a substitute for warmer contact, and so submerged himself even further.   
  
His mother and father were dead. His other living relatives hated him. He was a cripple unable to be healed, yet with such a healer just out of reach. And, worst of all . . . even *he* had betrayed him. One of the two people above all others he had come to count on as a friend. He was utterly worthless, and so he was content to remain, cradled deep within the darkness of the void that, after a while, became comforting.   
  
Softly, so softly at first that he assured himself he was only hearing things, the voices started. "I . . . I can barely see him." A whisper of sound that carried with it memories of violet and black. Uncomfortably, he stirred. Surely she wasn't here. Why would she be?   
  
"What could have possibly happened to cause him to withdraw so deeply into himself?" Another worried voice, this one gold and silver and just as achingly familiar.   
  
Like a sleeping serpent . . . _but I'm not a serpent, I'm a lion. It is he who is the serpent_ . . . roused into angered wakefulness, he uncoiled slightly. How dare he, *he* of all people! intrude into this haven? "Why?" From the stunned silence, he knew the other two had heard.   
  
"Why what?" The gold and silver voice asked. "Harry? Are you really there?" He did not allow himself to be moved by the obvious worry and hope. Faked, of course, to be sure.   
  
He uncoiled a bit more. "Why did you bother to save me? Why ruin your own plot?"   
  
"To save you . . . because I didn't want you to die! You're my friend, Harry. Or at least, I thought you were." He paused, pulsed in surprise as the rest of Harry's comment caught up with him. "*My* plot? I didn't plot to kill you! I never would!"   
  
Furious anger brought him to uncoil fully. "You wouldn't, huh?" He hissed. "Well then, tell me this. Why did Crabbe and Goyle tell me that throwing me out the window was 'a message from Malfoy' if you had nothing to do with it?" His voice rose until he was practically yelling.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Draco yelled back. "I don't associate with them anymore, now that I have real friends! And I would never wish for your death!" His voice grew more calm. "But then, if you don't believe me, there's really nothing I can do, is there." An almost unnatural calm had descended on his voice, and for the first time Harry felt doubt. "After all, I'll always be 'Malfoy' to the people here, won't I. I could hardly expect you to be any different just because I thought we knew each other better than that." He turned. "I'll leave, now, Hotaru. It's obvious I'm doing nothing but harm by remaining here." The gold and silver voice receded into the distance and disappeared through a patch of light Harry had not previously seen.   
  
Perhaps it was the anguish in the gold/silver/Draco voice. Perhaps it was his willingness to leave. Perhaps the disapproval he could feel, though she had said nothing else yet, in the violet/black/Hotaru voice. But suddenly, all Harry's doubts came back to the forefront. He knew, or he thought he knew, Draco better than that. Draco would not have done this to him, not after all he had done to help. Only the void, the long dark loneliness, had ever convinced him otherwise.   
  
Before the light disappeared again, as he was somehow sure it would, he threw himself at it. There seemed a feeling of resistance but then, with very real relief, he penetrated and resurfaced, drawing in a long breath as though he had been submerged in water for quite some time. And, in a way, if not precisely in water, he had.   
  
* * *  
  
The spectators watched silently. Setsuna, Melisande, and Michiru with a certain amount of fascination, Cho with only a very vague idea of what was happening and thus looking on somewhat confused, and Haruka with barely disguised worry.  
  
Hotaru had been adamant. She, along with Draco, would go into Harry's mind and try to contact him before she made the final decision on whether or not to bond him. Not because she didn't want to—she did—but because she felt that it was not a decision that could be fairly made without Harry's input.  
  
For a while, the tableau remained still with the black-haired boy laying silent in the bed, as he had ever since that last devastating attack, Draco and Hotaru to either side of the bed, kneeling. Only the slow motion of their chests gave any indication that any of the three remained alive.  
  
Then one sleeper awoke. Draco lifted his head, looking around to either side in apparent disorientation before shaking his head slightly. Slowly, he stood, and Haruka saw her worry realized, though in a different way than she might have feared, had her fear been other than nebulous. The blond boy's movements were stiff and heavy, his shoulders bowed with depression. Haruka wanted nothing more than to go over and comfort her friend, whatever it was that caused the sorrow in his posture. But she knew he would not appreciate the intrusion.  
  
Then, amazingly, another of the sleepers moved, lifting a hand to place it down upon Draco's only moments before he lifted it. Vivid green eyes opened, squinted at the unfamiliar light. "I'm sorry." The voice, hoarse from disuse, cracked. "Can you forgive me, Draco, for giving in to doubts I should never have had in the first place?"  
  
The new Guardian of Time looked with amazement from the hand to the now- open green eyes. "There's nothing to forgive." He said softly. "It hasn't been so very long, after all, since I was the sort of person that deserved all your accusations."  
  
"Still . . . I should have realized that you're different now." A small smile. "I really am sorry."  
  
"I'm not." Draco replied firmly, and it was his voice's turn to crack. "I'm just so very glad that you're awake."  
  
Hotaru stirred, raising violet eyes that shimmered, on the edge of tears. "We all are."  
  
Draco squeezed his friend's hand. "We're your family now, Harry. And you'll never have to be alone again."  
  
And for the first time in his life, Harry could put a label to the warm feeling that suffused his body. At last, finally, he had a place where he *knew* he belonged.   
  
  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
36. Interlude: Chaos  
  
She looked around. "This doesn't look anything like the place where I stayed when I was . . ."  
  
Her companion nodded. "I figured as much, when you admitted to never having heard of the Galaxy Cauldron. That's where we are, more or less." She pointed. "We'll have to go through that cloud, which is Sagittarius Zero Star, in order to reach the Galaxy Cauldron."   
  
"Sagittarius Zero Star . . . the center of the galaxy." Galaxia murmured, remembering long-ago astronomy lessons that had pinpointed Sagittarius Alpha Star as the center. But they had entered Sagittarius Alpha Star, and within the black hole was this cloud, this Sagittarius Zero Star. "I can feel the power within."  
  
Cosmos smiled. "Perhaps you too can draw directly on its power. Come with me, I think I remember the way properly."   
  
Galaxia flashed a quick smile. "You're the boss."   
  
In silence, the two figures floating in space moved in unison toward the cloud and what it held within.   
  
* * *  
  
Cosmos drew out her staff, standing above the unconscious (for the moment) forms of Sailor Lethe and Sailor Mnemosyne. "Can you help them?" Galaxia asked. The two had been unprepared for their entrance and even less prepared to encounter their liege in battle dress. Plus, she thought they had been good people before being taken over by Chaos. They deserved to have their own life. "I'll lend some of my own power if it will help."  
  
"That shouldn't be necessary." Cosmos replied with a soft smile. She raised the staff, and soft white light washed over the four people. Galaxia closed her eyes as she felt the light wash over, feeling warmth and happiness and healing all wrapped up into one package. The two girls on the ground stirred, first Lethe, then Mnemosyne. The girl in the dark teal dress sat up, holding her head. "Ooh. My head. What happened?" Her wrist was a somewhat paler shade than the rest of her skin, proof of how long that abominable bracelet had resided there.   
  
"We freed you from Chaos' influence." Galaxia replied. "Or rather, Cosmos here did." She gestured to the silver-haired woman. "I just stood and watched.   
  
"Galaxia? But . . . you don't have her gauntlets. What's going on?" A somewhat softer toned and equally confused voice asked as the other girl struggled to a seated position. Her lavender gaze flitted from her own bare wrists to her partners and back before coming up as she blurted, "Neither do we! Why aren't we dead yet? It's supposed to be impossible for us to survive without them."   
  
"Not that we're complaining." Lethe commented dryly. "But Mnemosyne brought up a good point. Who are you people, and what do you want with us?"   
  
"This is my friend Sailor Cosmos." Galaxia said. "She's the one who was able to recapture your star seeds and bring you back--which, of course, is why you're not dead yet. I'm just around to provide some extra firepower. As you so astutely noted, I am Sailor Galaxia . . . yet not. I come from another dimension, where Eternal Sailor Moon succeeded in defeating me and driving Chaos from my body. I have sworn to aid Cosmos in her quest to do the same in this dimension."   
  
"Where do we come in?" Mnemosyne asked, her face having paled a little, most likely at the thought of having to confront Galaxia/Chaos.   
  
The golden-haired warrior smiled. "You are free to continue the life that your Galaxia interrupted so abruptly. Soon, after we defeat Chaos, your planet and many others will be restored and there will be some that need to be guarded. Or . . ." she hesitated ". . . if you feel there is no place left for you here, there are many empty planets that need protection back on my world, too many for me to watch over competently myself."   
  
"That actually makes an amazing amount of sense." Cosmos observed idly. "After all, the senshi of your world were brought into this universe to protect it, so it seems only fair if people from this world are sent to guard your own. That is, only if that is what they truly wish."  
  
Suddenly, the silver-haired girl's face took on a look of intense concentration as two beads of light--one golden yellow, one blue-green--seperated themselves from her and travelled over to hover, the blue-green one in front of Lethe and the golden one in front of Mnemosyne. "Well." She commented, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I alway felt that I was only caretaker for the other senshi's powers, but I never dreamed that this was the reason why."   
  
She walked over until she stood in front of Lethe. "By the power vested in me by the planet Neptune, I pass on to you the power of the sea. Use it wisely." The blue-green bead of light diffused, wrapping Lethe in its glow for a moment before disappearing into her skin.   
  
She turned. "And to you, Mnemosyne, by the power vested in me by the planet Uranus, I grant the power of the wind. Use it courageously." Mnemosyne was suffused in a golden glow and then it, too, disappeared.   
  
"We should probably leave now, before Galaxia finds us again." Lethe suggested.   
  
Mnemosyne nodded. "Good luck to both of you in your endeavours. And Galaxia? I think I will take you up on your offer. Leaving will allow us to make a fresh start." She began to turn, then paused. "Galaxia-sama will find out soon enough that you are here. It is my opinion that letting her know that another Galaxia with, I assume, similar strength and powers, is here is not a good idea."  
  
"In other words, if you have a way of disguising yourself, do it." Lethe clarified. "We'll be waiting right outside Sagittarius Alpha Star. Send the others to us when--as I assume you will--you turn them as well."   
  
With that, freed of control and newly fortified with additional powers, the two sailor guardians of the river of lost memories turned and disappeared into the mists.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well, what do you think?" Her golden hair, shoulder-length, was too short to show the distinctive shift to red that happened farther down. Dressed in the most conventional of senshi fukus, her skirt, collar, and plain choker were all a soft, pale yellow, washed out by the brightness of her hair, and both front and back bow were a bright fire-engine red. Knee-length boots like the ones worn by Sailor Moon, Mercury, and Pluto, were also that same yellow. She twirled, showing off the fullness of the costume under Cosmos' amused eyes.   
  
"You do know, don't you," Cosmos said dryly, "that there is no such senshi as Sailor Sun?"   
  
"But of course." Galaxia--or is that 'Sailor Sun'?--smirked. "However, you are missing the point. Does Galaxia/Chaos know that?"   
  
* * *  
  
"The costume's all well and good." Cosmos commented as they continued to walk along through the formless place. "But to be believable, you really ought to have an attack. A sun-themed one, that is." She paused. "Do you have a specific magical attack as Sailor Galaxia? This one has a fairly powerful one--Galactica Inflation--but you've demonstrated that you were very different even before you were . . . reformed."   
  
"Galactica Inflation?" Galaxia wrinkled her nose. "Ew. To answer your question, I do have a magical attack--essentially a golden blast. Like a combination of Venus' Crescent Beam, and the outer senshi's planet-shaped attacks. I don't know that I ever bothered to name it, though."   
  
"That won't do at all!" Cosmos exclaimed flippantly. "We can't let you be a member of the senshi of our solar system without a suitable attack name! It's just not done."   
  
_Suitably silly._ Galaxia smirked, but carefully did not say. She considered for a moment or two, then allowed her smirk to widen to a full-blown evil grin. _Perfect!_ She drew on the power and gathered a ball of the golden energy in her hands. "Solar Flare!" She released the energy in a moderate-sized blast.   
  
"Solar Flare? Solar Flare?!" Cosmos asked incredulously. "Of all the attack names you could come up with, did you *have* to pick the most *unoriginal* (not to mention scientifically inaccurate) name you could possibly have come up with?"   
  
Galaxia made no effort to hide her grin. "Oh, I don't know. I think it sounds classier than . . . hm . . . 'Momentarily Surfacing Magnetic Lines'. And it's certainly not nearly as silly as . . . what was it? I can never remember exactly . . . 'Pink Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss'? Or something like that . . ."  
  
" 'Silver Crystal Power Therapy Kiss'." Cosmos corrected absently, then glared. "Hey! That's a perfectly good attack, I'll have you know!"   
  
Galaxia's brow furrowed. "That doesn't sound quite right . . . I could have sworn that 'pink' was in there somewhere . . ." She grinned at the annoyed silver-haired woman. "Sure, it's powerful, but only because of the person doing it. Face it, Cosmos, you and Sailor Moon are both just plain powerful enough that you could yell 'Fruitcake!' and dust a youma if you really put your mind to it." She paused. "Nah, not long enough. Seems like the longer your attack name is, the more powerful it is."   
  
"How about . . ." She took an elaborate pose, "One Scoop of Chocolate and One Scoop of Vanilla Ice Cream in a Waffle Cone with Hot Fudge on Top, Please!!" After every word or so, she changed to a different, but equally elaborate pose until, at 'Hot Fudge', she began to spin so fast she looked to be out of control, stopping on a dime at the end of 'Please!!'  
  
Cosmos very decorously hid the drool that her subconscious had conjured up at the mention of ice cream (some things never change), but she had to admit that Galaxia was doing a very good job (in her own satirical little way) of mimicking many of Sailor Moon's later attacks. Unfortunately (for her peace of mind), the impression wasn't that much of an exaggeration. But she had to admit, it was funny. So she laughed along, and several more steps passed in good humor for both of them.   
  
The mist began to lift and, as if by magic, their laughter slowed and stopped. They found themselves in the middle of an immense graveyard, filled with literally thousands of grey headstones. Unconsiously, the two grew closer to each other, drawing comfort from each others' presence. Forward motion that had slowed to a halt slowly resumed as they headed straight ahead, toward a grave marker set slightly apart from the others.   
  
As they came closer, they saw that what seemed like one from a distance had once been two; the second was now little more than assorted rubble and a couple of scorch marks on the first. The beginnings of a smile twitched Galaxia's lips, dying even before it fully formed. "I guess I didn't aim my 'Solar Flare' quite as well as I thought I had." She commented dryly, yet at the same time sadly, regretting the destruction she had caused. "I wonder whose it was?"  
  
Cosmos, in the meantime, had focused on the first of the headstones and now turned to Galaxia, face nearly as pale as her hair. "If I'm not mistaken . . . yours." For the first held a simply carved likeness of the silver senshi that still somehow managed to convey her solemn dignity. A deep violet butterfly flashed passed the two, followed in rapid succession by two others--brilliant yellow and cerulean--that served to provide a flash of welcome color.   
  
A low chuckle echoed across the graveyard and, reluctantly, the two turned. "You admire my little butterflies? They are the last fire of stars that, dying, refuse to admit to their imminent death and thus end it all in that last, vain blaze of glory." She--for indeed it was the next of Galaxia's minions that they were to face--chuckled again. "So many butterflies, and so beautiful, don't you agree?" In an abbreviated fuku of violet and black with wide gossamer wings, she rather resembled those butterflies she so admired.   
  
"The line of butterflies flying vainly toward their inevitable end will never stop." She smiled benignly, but did not chuckle again. "And which . . . which will be the next one to find its final resting place?" Violet eyes glinted. "You, perhaps. And will you choose to go out in that last blaze of glory?" Suddenly--far too suddenly for the two to do anything but blink and curse their inattention--vines shot up out of the ground, wrapping around them both and binding them into a suspended, spreadeagled posture, hanging high above the ground. "The blaze, at least, I can provide!" And as the vines burst into ethereal flames, flames making themselves felt moreso each moment they were allowed to exist, the unknown senshi laughed at her own jest.   
  
"*This* will be your final resting place, the sight of your glorious funeral! That, I, Soul Hunter Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon, promise! And your deaths shall provide a glorious sacrifice for my Lord and Master, Galaxia-sama!!"  
  
Cosmos lowered her head, slowly, painfully, until at last her eyes met Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon's. She smiled, gently, despite the effort the action obviously cost her, and uttered four words that, as futile as they seemed, still gave Heavy Metal Papillon pause. "I don't think so." And three more, which provided proof of her claim. "Cosmos Aqua Rhapsody!"  
  
The vines immediately around her, despite the unnatural strength of the flames, almost immediately froze over and broke away. Yet as soon as one vine disintegrated, another would spring into place. There was only so much energy Cosmos could pour into the attack, and she was tiring far too rapidly. Ignoring her own pain as well as she was able, Galaxia reached toward the silver senshi, her fingers extending as far as she could, farther than she ever would have thought possible. Still, it wasn't quite enough, and she could feel the darkness around the edges of her thoughts. Much more of this pain . . .   
  
One last reach, and finally her fingers caught and held. Without even stopping to congratulate herself, she shoved all the energy she could in the direction of the silver-haired senshi. She was the most powerful senshi in the galaxy, barring only one, so she might as well put all that considerable energy to some use. At first, the energy just pooled, unnoticed, but suddenly she felt a pull as it was sucked up . . . and more was demanded, as much more as possible without putting her life in danger. Not that she particularly cared at this point, so long as *one* of them survived. She fell limp as she pushed all the energy she had and more in the direction of Cosmos, the tactile connection breaking as soon as she stopped reaching but the power conduit remaining.   
  
And as the darkness began to swallow her, she welcomed it as a haven from the pain. Cosmos would survive . . . she had accomplished what she needed to, so she could rest content.   
  
Rest . . . that sounded so good just now . . .   
  
* * *  
  
The borrowed energy flooded through her and, with its incredible strength, Cosmos found she had no problem icing over . . . in fact, practically disintegrating . . . the flaming vines that had held them captive. Still filled almost to overflowing, she drifted down to the ground, landing lightly, gracefully. A muted thump caught her attention, and she turned to see her friend prone on the ground, arms and legs splayed everywhere in a manner that would have been extremely uncomfortable had she been awake and aware.   
  
Crystal tears pooling in her eyes, she realized why she felt so much energy. Galaxia had, literally, given up all of hers. And knowing that, she knew that she couldn't check the other girl's body further, not even far enough to know whether or not she still lived . . . not without first taking care of what they had come to do.   
  
Heavy Metal Papillon had taken a step backward, unsure as the first person ever broke loose from her trap, and had not yet wholly regained her aplomb. Almost absently, even as her heart boiled over with anger, she gestured. "Cosmos Wall." An ultra hard, impenetrable substance sprang up in a shell around the winged Animamate.   
  
She reached, much as she had the first time, and found the star seed for which she had searched. Looking like a diamond, it had a royal purple core. Even as Heavy Metal Papillon looked on in half-fear, half-awe, she reached through the wall as only she could and gently placed the star seed within, where it remained, floating. "Cosmos Healing Escalation." In a bright flash of light, the gauntlets flared to dust, then less than dust, and the star seed was reabsorbed back into the former Animamate's body.  
  
Allowing the wall to dissapate and drawing the remainder of the energy back within her body, Cosmos turned away. For now, the other girl's fate no longer interested her, as she knelt beside her friend's body and took one of those white-gloved hands in her own. "Come on, Galaxia. Wake up." Only a very minute movement in the chest . . . up, then agonizingly slowly, down . . . gave any proof that she even remained alive.   
  
An eyelid flickered, and she wiped away tears that continued, stubbornly, to form. "Don't you dare die on me! I couldn't have won this without you."   
  
". . . sure you could . . . just like sailor moon . . . not enough confidence . . ." red eyes opened briefly and a small smile was attempted, before they fluttered back closed, accompanied by a sigh, so soft as to be almost inaudible. ". . . rest now . . . gave too much . . ." Her eyes reopened again briefly, intense with their message. ". . . no regrets! . . ."  
  
She fell silent and her eyes closed once more. Her chest fell, almost another sigh, then for heartbreakingly long remained still. Tears began to flow again, and this time Cosmos let them fall. ". . . why . . ." Fists pounded the dirt beside her friend's body. "Dammit, Galaxia, you can't die. All my friends . . . one by one, they died . . . leaving me their powers, as if that were enough! It's not! Finally, I have another friend, and now you . . . you're about to leave me too." 


End file.
